Two Halves of Safety
by silver-moonshine
Summary: Returning to Grimmauld Place one night, after a day at the local library, Harry stumbles across a mysterious figure surrounded by blood and fallen enemies. When the moment comes that he could step forward or away, he makes a decision that will alter his life forever - and change the fate of more than one magical realm. Slash. Harry/OMC.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, its works and all its character belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling. Serorian, his kin and all those that hunt him are mine.**

**This is intended to be a one-shot but if it's called for, I will consider taking the story further.**

**WARNING: This is a slash fic. I said so in the summary. If you've persisted despite your hatred of MalexMale relationships I suggest you leave.**

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It was a dark winter evening; clouds muddied the sky and the lights of suburbia stained them bloody. Snow half formed and then wetted the ground, splattering inelegantly against Harry's hunched form as he scurried homeward against the wind. He'd spent the evening at the local library trying to experience some form of freedom within the limits he'd been set by the Order. He wasn't eager to be getting home.

It was during this reluctant progress that the sound of metal clashing against metal came to the Boy Who Lived, muffled by the wind and rain as it was. He hesitated by the dark alleyway from which the sounds emitted, curious against his better judgement, then jumped horribly as the first thing his peering eyes registered was a body slumping to the ground with limp force.

Green eyes blinked, taking in the blood misted walls and the rough circle of prone bodies that surrounded the only remaining upright figure. Common sense suggested that Harry should be at that moment running and screaming for help, for someone to come and put away what was obviously an insane and dangerous man. But something stopped him. Whether it was the weary slump of the man's shoulders, the ragged clothes... or the glint of a hunted, watchful stare from between strands of almost burgundy hair, mostly hidden beneath a rough hooded cloak, he couldn't know for sure.

Cautiously he stepped forward, somehow unsurprised that his increasing proximity caused the strange man to relax, rather than tense to fight further.

'Are you alright?'

The man knelt slowly, not taking his gaze from the approaching teen, blindly wiping his crimsoned blade on the robes of one of the dead men. Only, it registered then, that they weren't men at all. They weren't human. And as the man's hair shifted in the wind, Harry could see the warrior wasn't either.

Each being was long limbed, long haired and athletically built in a manner that spoke of a lifetime of toil, eyes exotically wide and slanted, inhumanly jewel bright. The clincher of it all however was the ears. The wind caught those burgundy locks revealing glimpses of them once more – slender, elegant and pointed. Harry had never seen anything like it before.

Those same fascinating ears were studded and adorned with silver and various charms – feathers, fangs, strange scales from exotic creatures and small roughly cut jewels that glittered in the dim light. A full-length sinuous metal dragon curled through one ear then up and around to hook over where the top of the ear joined the head, grasping in its jaws the end of a dark swathe of slightly translucent material which hung round and down the being's face, concealing the details of the features beneath – presumably the sharp angle of a cheekbone, the smooth curve of lips and the lower portion of an elegant nose.

In his musings Harry had missed the movement which had brought the man round to face the teen, and was startled to awareness as the long gleaming, obviously old but well maintained sword slid home into its scabbard with a soft click. Beneath the dirty, ragged cape was battered leather armour, covering the being almost head to foot.

The flimsy black material that concealed the being's face fluttered as it breathed, an unsettlingly vivid dark blue-green eye staring out from a lightly tanned face, the other covered by an eyepatch.

'I am well.'

The words were spoken in a manner that suggested unfamiliarity, but the deep, smooth voice was assertive... musical too and - dare Harry say it – magical. The teen shivered and swallowed convulsively, feeling irrepressibly drawn to the individual before him.

Almost silently the being moved slowly forward, careful as if wary of startling some untamed animal - a frown decorated his brow.

'Your face... it is familiar to me. As if I have dreamt of it...'

The being came within a metre of Harry then stopped, still frowning, evidently disconcerted,

'...and this feeling...'

The tall male tilted his head, a gloved hand going to his chest. Harry shifted as the unnerving single-eyed gaze burned into him. Anxious for a distraction the Boy-Who-Lived cleared his throat, blind to the carnage surrounding them still,

'Who...and what are you?'

'I am Serorian, an elf of the High Kingdoms.'

'I... I'm Harry. An elf? You don't _look_ like a House Elf.'

Serorian broke from his staring with a blink, and then he tilted his head back and laughed in delight. The lyrical sound was akin to no other that Harry had heard within his short, hard life, surpassing even the few phoenix songs he had heard. The urge to let his legs crumple as they were begging to do was almost unstoppable. Such a laugh – even flavoured with misuse – was unbearably beautiful. The teen wizard felt his magic somehow _croon_ beneath his skin, his very soul shaken by the unexpected sound.

He continued to stare breathlessly as the elf spoke, deep turquoise eye blazing warmly with humour.

'You are a Wizard then. I should have known, but it has been so long since one of us saw your kind. 'House Elf' is a name given by Wizards who long ago sought to enslave us. They failed spectacularly. The name was born as an insult, given to the only beings from the Elvish Realms that they could capture, but it amused us. House Elves as you call them are much more ancient and powerful than humans know. They allowed themselves to be enslaved, because it was to their advantage. After the war with the Wizards the Elves withdrew to their realms and barred the way in, so the House Elves were trapped and have undoubtedly become... domesticated. Even so, they hold powers your kind cannot fathom.'

Harry absorbed this soundlessly, taking in a stuttering breath as the elf took another half step forward.

'Elves of my kind are too proud to become enslaved. Too intelligent to need to use other species for their gain. Too superior to live easily alongside humans. Or so they would like to believe.'

As if enraptured Serorian removed one of his gloves, revealing an almost impossibly elegant, pale hand that was criss-crossed with scars. Even so, as the calloused, scarred fingers brushed against Harry's jaw, they were incredibly soft and gentle.

'We are flesh and blood as much as you are. Just as warm blooded.'

Indeed the hand that cradled Harry's cheek emanated heat, warming his chilled skin. The touch was caring, and caused his magic to sing once more.

'We are born with incomplete souls. We seek companionship amongst our own kind. Only, occasionally some are needed elsewhere, and their hearts seek completion beyond their realm. In their long-lived anger the Elves condemn all other humanoid races, but none more so than humans and Wizards.'

Serorian took another half step forward, and Harry found he had to look upwards to meet the intent gaze he was being afforded with, feeling his heart thrum ecstatically with the proximity. The elf murmured to him almost intimately, fingers smoothing a lock of sodden black hair back behind his ear,

'So those, like myself, who are born for greatness written in the stars - One who is prophesied by the elders to bring about a Great Change, who will bring Greatness to his kingdom... with his soul-bonded Wizard by his side... They are taken from their parents' arms and locked up like criminals, then forced to believe that they were born with a wrongness within themselves. They have no control over it, yet they must be punished because it is discordant with the natural order of society. When such an individual becomes old enough to realise that his treatment is unfair, he is punished further for protesting, for defending himself and those like him. When he escapes he is chased, throughout countless worlds and kingdoms - he is attacked, vilified, hated and pursued as if he were worse than a murderer. Ever searching, ever learning, ever living on for that minute chance that one day I might escape and finally find... you.'

Harry blinked slowly, feeling as if he had been drugged, limbs heavy with some emotion that he couldn't quite understand.

'Me?'

'Yes, Beloved. It is you I have searched for. It is the calling of your soul that I have followed into the human realms. Can you not feel it?'

Harry frowned slightly, trying to summon up all he was feeling. But where he rationally expected confusion, and maybe even fear, he found upmost certainty. His heart lurched in an almost painful manner as he vaguely identified what had made his limbs lax. It was only now that he felt startled.

'I feel...'

Serorian sighed peacefully and fell gracefully to his knees, pressing his face against Harry's abdomen in an almost child-like gesture as his hood fell to reveal the roughly hewn edges of his shoulder length hair. A strong arm wrapped around the Wizard's waist as the knelt male hoarsely finished the others' sentence,

'Safe.'

Harry paused, trying this word against his feeling, and smiled when it fit perfectly.

'Yeah...'

Gently he raised his arms and looped them over the elf's shoulders, bringing him into an odd embrace and then pressing a kiss into the burgundy hair as he realised that is was love that was making his heart all but glow. The upmost certainty emanated from his soul, his very magic even, and he knew it must be true. This man, this elf whom he had had never even had the vaguest idea of, was inconceivably his.

'...safe.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, its works and all its characters belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling. Serorian, his kin and all those that hunt him are mine.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed or even just read this story – you are what is keeping this story going. **

**There will be some slight character bashing (aka Dumbledore) in this chapter, so I'm sorry to those who like him. It's necessary for the plot though. Also, fluff. Lots and lots of fluff, 'cause Harry didn't get enough of it in the books.**

**WARNING: This is a slash fic. I said so in the summary. If you've persisted despite your hatred of MalexMale relationships I suggest you leave.**

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They left the bloodied alleyway behind. A slim hand laid on each slumped body had caused the lifeless flesh to disintegrate, becoming one with the earth and leaving nothing behind but weapons and clothing. The first were secreted away within the folds of Serorian's cloak, the second were left to whatever fate may befall them. Harry felt no horror.

Now they made their way homeward, the elf invisible to all eyes including his mate's, and Harry continued to smile. Somehow the Wizard was aware of Serorian's presence even when he wasn't visible – a reassuring column of heat and curiosity keeping pace with him. If the elf deliberately moved closer so that their hands brushed, then Harry didn't mention it and all too soon their peaceful walk halted at the foot of Grimmauld Place,

'Can you see it?'

'This human magic is not designed to deter elves. Not anymore.'

The wizard took this as a 'yes', and moved forward until they were in front of the door, but hesitated before he opened it.

'Um... there might be a lot of people in the house. Will you be ok?'

'Worry not, Beloved.'

Harry nodded and hid his blush as he entered, holding the door open long enough for Serorian to slip by as silent as a shadow. Somehow he knew that the elf was looking around curiously even while he whispered to him,

'This is... was... my Godfather's house – we have to be quiet in here, there's a portrait of his mother behind that curtain and she tends to... scream if she's disturbed.'

Together they quietly walked the length of the hall and up the rickety stairs. If Harry hadn't been able to sense his soul mate, he couldn't have known he was there – the elf's footsteps were silent and he moved with nary a disturbance to the air around him. Eventually they entered Harry's room, and the wizard sighed in relief that they hadn't bumped into anyone. As soon as the door was locked Serorian shimmered into sight again, looking down at the wizard with a one eyed stare as the teenager removed his coat and sat down on the bed.

After a moment of green eyes staring into turquoise and visa versa the elf cocked his head and then gracefully sat cross-legged on the floor before the door, back resting against the wooden surface, not breaking their gaze from one another. Harry smiled suddenly,

'I can feel you all but humming with curiosity.'

Serorian's eye crinkled, letting the wizard know that he too was smiling,

'You are also.'

Harry nodded shamelessly,

'It's odd in a way. I feel as if I've known you all my life, yet I know nearly nothing about you.'

'Ask. I have no secrets from you.'

Something in Harry's stomach clenched at that, absolutely believing the elf even though his whole life had been a tangle of lies, secrets and deceit for as long as he could remember. No secrets. It was a novel feeling. Immediately he decided to start with the basics.

'How old are you?'

Serorian tilted his head in consideration before responding, lips quirking at Harry's raised eyebrow – the teen hadn't been aware it would require any thought.

'I have survived nearly 100 winters in the elven kingdoms. I am considered young by my people.'

Harry's jaw dropped as the elf continued,

'Elves are nearly immortal – we may die when we are old if we so choose. Our will to live fades over time. The days pass more quickly than in the human realms, yet we do not feel the years so harshly, so it evens out in the end I suppose.'

The green eyed boy nodded in understanding, even as his mind continued to reel somewhat,

'How long have you known about... uh... me?'

The elf's light expression dimmed somewhat, dark turquoise eye closing momentarily as if in pain and Harry bit his lip, suddenly wishing he could take back the lightly meant question. For a long moment it seemed as if Serorian wouldn't answer, but eventually he seemed to find the words,

'For 70 years I have willingly borne the weighted knowledge of your mortality. I knew, even as a child, that I would not find my Intended amongst the Immortal Realms and understood what would be done to me if it were known. I kept you locked in my heart for many years, but our Fate is too significant to remain within only myself – those even without the gift of Clairvoyance could read my supposed betrayal within the stars as soon as my soul began to reach for yours, just as you came into existence. It was in my 50th winter that I felt your being born; I later felt as Death Magic strived to steal your life and I happily bore the agony of un-tethered Bond-magic to prevent your passing even as I was imprisoned for my love of you.'

Again Harry gaped, not even sure where to begin. First the idea that Serorian had pretty much felt as he was... conceived (internally he pulled a somewhat grossed out expression at the thought), then – bloody hell – after years of wondering, the answer to how he had survived the killing curse sat right in front of him looking for all the world like some beautiful other worldly warrior (which, he absently conceded, was exactly what the elf was) and with no idea how crucial his magic had been to the fate of the Wizarding world. Then suddenly the last half of that sentence echoed in his thoughts,

'You... you love me?'

The vibrant turquoise eye crinkled into a smile again,

'I love you with every minutiae of my existence.'

The wizard wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. It was one thing for the Weasley's to declare to others that they loved him like he was their own; it was another thing entirely to be directly told by someone that they loved him. For the first time in nearly 17 years someone had said 'I love you' and, even better, meant it.

Gentle fingers danced across his cheeks, wiping away a few escapee tears, prompting him to open eyes which seemed to have closed on their own accord. Serorian knelt before him, looking up at him with obvious concern. His voice caught as he tried to explain, wanting more than anything to rid the elf of the worry he felt,

'No-one has ever said that to me before.'

Serorian frowned disapprovingly,

'Then I will strive to do so every day, until your very being is saturated with love. Then you will no longer feel the lack.'

Harry smiled helplessly at that, relaxing as unerringly gentle fingers continued to stroke along his skin, tracing his features with a flutter of fascination and awe.

'I had not occurred to me that you would be so beautiful. I feel it should have. I feel I should know everything about you. Will you tell me?'

The Wizard hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, taking off his shoes and scooting up the bed to settle comfortably against the pillows,

'You'll want to get comfortable – it's a long story.'

The elf nodded once and stood, unclasping his dark cloak, removing the battered armour from his torso and revealing the entirety of his outfit – snug leather trousers (some sort of dark brown hide that Harry didn't recognize) and a rustic looking tunic – rich green and open at the neck to reveal smooth pale skin and the shadow of the elf's collarbones. Supple leather gauntlets remained on, as did the dark material masking his face, but the well worn boots did not and soon joined the growing pile of clothing on the floor. In a move born of practice Serorian efficiently removed the larger of his weapons and wrapped all in his cloak, excepting his sword which was tucked under the side of the mattress, hilt facing the pillows. Then, just as silently, Serorian sat on the bed cross legged before Harry – close enough to touch if he so wanted – and waited patiently.

Harry studied his elf curiously, flushing slightly as his eyes swept over lean muscle and glowingly pale skin that seemed just as other worldly in its perfection as the vibrant eyes and pointed ears. He noticed for the first time the hair clasp that kept the dark material swathed across his face in place and burgundy hair back – an intricate silver phoenix with deep purple eyes, material grasped in its claws.

'Why do you wear that?'

The darkly green-blue eye crinkled into a smile again, not as heart-felt as the others, but sincere none the less. The wizard tried to untangle the swell of emotion the question earned him, but it blinked out of existence as quickly as it had appeared.

'I will show you shortly, but first I wish to know of you.'

Harry nodded, settled back, took a deep breath and began,

'I guess I should start where it all began – with a prophecy...'

The words seemed to pour out, and he was vaguely aware that he was telling this almost-stranger everything. Nothing was held back, not his abuse at the hands of his Aunt and Uncle, not his private fears and feelings, not the words of prophecy he'd kept close to his heart, Basklisks, being a parseltongue, near death experiences, unicorns, threstrals, trolls in the dungeons, horcruxes, dementors, Ron's jealousy (which had hurt him more than he'd ever expressed before), Cedric's death, his visions and dreams, his suspicions of Malfoy, Umbridge, the Quill, the Ministry, his Godfather's death, his attempted use of an Unforgiveable – absolutely everything.

Serorian did little but listen, feelings trickling from him unobtrusively, then more so as he clasped the Wizard's hands in his. It was all the comfort Harry needed, the warm hands and feelings of love and concern soothing wounds he hadn't realised existed within him, and he had to admit, the anger and sorrow the elf freely felt along with him helped to keep him going. It was nice to know without doubt that Serorian supported him. By the time he finished, his voice was hoarse – Harry had spoken more in the last hour or so than he had in what felt like years. His heart was the lighter for it though, as if some of the burden that had strived to bring him to his knees had lifted.

For a moment they sat, green eyes lowered to the duvet as gentle thumbs rubbed against his knuckles thoughtfully. The soothing gesture was almost hypnotic, enough so that Harry was startled when the elf finally spoke,

'The last 50 years of my life have been dedicated to finding you, and now that I have I feel little shame in admitting that I am now dedicated to keeping you. I am selfish, so I will say this – I do not want you to fight this war as a martyr, I wish with all my heart you had not had such a difficult life, and I will never look upon this... Dumbledore... with kind eyes. However, I do love you, and if you wish to fight I will be at your back protecting you with my very life. Further, know this...'

A light touch brought Harry's chin up so they were eye to eye,

'... You have a choice. I will never, so long as I live, force you to do anything against your will so long as it isn't detrimental to your health. I will never hurt you as your so called family have done, I will never withhold the truth, manipulate you or turn you away. Anything you wish for will be my wish also. I will continue to love you no matter what path you choose in life.'

A shiver of magic passed between them – the tendrils of a Vow.

'Speak not, but think. I only request of you that you see your life through my eyes for a moment, so that the actions and motives of those around you become clearer. Consider if you will, how you would have interpreted your life if instead a child of yours had lived it. Then you may begin to see how wrongly you have been treated. I will not allow you to be taken advantage of any longer.'

That dark vibrant eye burned into his almost pleadingly and, heart thrumming with an almost desperate need to calm the elf, Harry did as asked despite his frown.

How would he have felt as a father, perhaps a spirit but a father none the less, as his child was taken from his lovingly constructed cot and placed on the cold doorstep of a family who hated his very existence? Angry, betrayed, worried.

How would he have felt as his lonely, abused child were forced to sleep in a cupboard, the man he had trusted to care for his child never once intervening or even visiting to check up? Angry, betrayed, worried.

How would he have felt if the man he had trusted sent the admittedly lovable, but biased and unerringly loyal Hagrid to fetch his child and flavour his first experiences of the Wizarding world with Dumbledore's own vitriol? Angry. Betrayed. Worried.

Harry's breath stuttered to a halt as he considered his previous thought – was that really how it had happened? Had he really been so easily swayed to dislike Slytherin so much, and to automatically trust Dumbledore? But of course, he had. A childhood without friendship and with cruel lies about his parents – to suddenly have his first friend, a man who gave him his first birthday cake, an avian companion and even his first ice cream – he would have done or believed anything out of sheer joy.

Faster and faster his memories passed, and his disbelief grew – had he really not questioned the events of first year? Dumbledore was a powerful, intelligent Wizard – surely there were better places to hide the Philosopher's stone than in a school full of innocent children? Further yet, a series of challenges to deter one of Voldemort's minions, if sincerely constructed for that purpose alone, should not have been so easily passed by three 11 year olds. That in and of itself was suspicious.

A warm hand on his cheek brought him from his thoughts,

'You begin to see?'

Harry huffed out a breath, mind still reeling,

'I... Yes... I hadn't thought...'

He broke off, feeling like he had swallowed glass, his heart clenching with the beginnings of betrayal. His faith in Dumbledore had been shaken by the previous year's events, but even still it hurt.

'I am sorry to have caused you pain.'

'Don't be. I... I think on some level I already knew... I just needed to realise it...'

His eyes were spilling over, and he sighed miserably, closing them. Would Sirius still be alive if he hadn't let Dumbledore use him? Would Cedric?

Soft lips kissed the tears from his cheeks, and his breath caught as he was pulled against a warm, solid form. Silky hair brushed his neck and the scent of honeyed fruit, damp earth and woodland breezes filled his senses causing him to sigh. Comfortably he fitted his arms around Serorian's slim waist and allowed himself to bask in the love and need to comfort he could feel. It was as if his soul was being caressed from the inside out by a warm ray of sunshine.

Serorian pressed himself against the wizard, holding back an uncommon surge of desperation borne of the need to remain entwined so for the foreseeable future. His Intended was petite but delightfully so – strong despite it and so magically powerful that the elf could near taste it when he breathed in. And oh, that scent – rain and mist reminding him of a storm at sea, laced through with something sweet that reminded him of innocence youth and his mother's warm embrace. The Wizard in his arms slowly relaxed into him, breathing slowing to an almost meditative pace.

'You will learn of me soon enough. Sleep for now – your heart and body are weary.'

Harry nodded drowsily against the elf's neck, voice muffled,

'Will you stay?'

'Nothing but Death could rid you of me now. I fear you will soon become sick of my constant presence.'

There was a teasing note to the musical voice and the Wizard huffed with laugher as he allowed the taller male to ease him down into the bed,

'Silly elf.'

'That may be so, but I am _your_ silly elf.'

Harry smiled as Serorian kissed him on the cheek and then settled down beside him. The Wizard absently waved his hand to extinguish the lights, and snuggled into the warm entity beside him – feeling no awkwardness or reservation despite the fact that he'd known this elf for less than 3 hours. Though really, he mused, their souls were one half of the others', so on a basic level at least he'd known the elf all his life.

'I think I can live with that.'

Happiness and contentment radiated through their tentative bond, before the connection was purposely dimmed.

'Sleep, Beloved.'

Harry was only half aware when Serorian began to hum, and slipped rapidly into sleep as the soothing lullaby dulled his senses. For the first time in at least 5 years he fell into a natural, deep sleep, where not even bad dreams could haunt him.

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**R&R if you want, the 3rd chapter is on it's way regardless. I'm open to questions and suggestions.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, its works and all its characters belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling. Serorian, his kin and all those that hunt him are mine.**

**Thank you once again for all reviews, follows and viewings. You rock my world. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, so apologise in advance if it's a bit crappy.**

**WARNING: This is a slash fic. I said so in the summary. If you've persisted despite your hatred of MalexMale relationships then I suggest you leave.**

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Harry woke to the sound of birdsong. Gentle morning light shone red behind his closed eyelids, and the scent of rain freshened air drifted in from an open window. It was with no surprise that he noted the absence of the warm body that had held him close all night, but he found himself smiling the smile of the content none the less. Limbs that had been lax with fatigue the night before all but buzzed with energy, and he felt his brain click into wakefulness, providing him with clarity of thought that had been sadly lacking over the last few days.

With that clarity, memories of the conversation he'd had the night before stung anew. His smile dimmed somewhat as remembered betrayal dug a little deeper into his vulnerable heart. In seeming response a wave of compassion and soothing calm wound down the bond, along with the distinct feeling that the elf was nearby.

Emerald green eyes flickered open, blinking quickly in an effort to get used to the light shining into them. As his vision cleared, his smile gained strength again. There in front of him, perched delicately upon the narrow window sill, sat a peaceful looking Serorian, back braced against one edge of the window frame and one leg dangling out of the open window. On his drawn up knee sat a blackbird, and it chirruped happily at the elf who, quite shocking Harry, gently chirruped back in reply. The blackbird darted away with a throaty chuckle, and Serorian tilted his head to view his Intended.

Harry stared – the morning light made the elf's skin glow and burgundy hair halo dark pink. The vibrant turquoise eye the teen found himself inordinately fond of twinkled with humour and love, seemingly unaware that the angle at which he sat allowed sunlight to shine through the material hiding the elf's face, enough so that the sharp line of his nose, and the soft arch of his lips could be seen. It was as the Wizard had thought – startlingly beautiful, even when mostly obscured.

'Good morning Beloved.'

The teen blushed and ran a hand though his hair in a fruitless attempt to bring it to order,

'Morning. Did you sleep okay?'

Serorian's eye crinkled into a smile,

'I did, and you?'

The Wizard all but bounced out of bed with a sudden surge of energy making the elf's eye crinkle further,

'Yep! I haven't slept so well in ages!'

The warrior watched in fascination as Harry went through his morning stretches – implemented by Oliver Wood years ago to keep his top Seeker limber and continued ever since.

'Hey, were you talking to that blackbird just now? Only you were kind of... chirruping.'

Serorian nodded serenely, following the flex of muscles and tendons with a curious eye,

'He was simply informing me that no other elves were nearby, and that he'd keep watch for me. Our exchange was much more basic of course, but that was the gist of it.'

'Can all elves talk with birds?'

'Not all, but a large number can. I am blessed with a natural affinity for those creatures closest to the elements, especially air. Others have to learn the Mother-tongue, whereas I did not.'

'Why air especially?'

'I am a rare hybrid – my mother and father were both powerful and compatible enough so that their offspring were born with the talents of two species – that of the Sea Elf from my mother, and that of Mountain Elf from my father. The combination of elemental talents cumulated in a near-Gift with Air magics and the creatures associated with it. Thus, I have a natural affinity with birds, and have done so since birth.'

Harry shook out his limbs to dispel any lingering ache, cast a quick freshening charm over his clothes, and then sat on the edge of the bed to stare at the elf,

'I have so many questions that I'm not even sure where to begin.'

Serorian's eye crinkled into a smile, and he gracefully stood,

'It may be best to start where we left off. I have explained briefly, have I not, the prejudice that has kept me from you?'

The teen nodded, watching curiously as the elf knelt before him as he had last night, this time feeling apprehension and well concealed fear trickle down their tentative bond,

'Elves of my kind – the Cursed, for whom completion lies within the Mortal Realm – are regarded as traitors. Their mere existence is considered treason of the highest order. We are imprisoned as soon as our supposed crime is discovered, and it becomes the duty of our keepers that we never consider escape. The most common technique to achieve this is to play upon our natural vanity. Elves, after all, are generally very vain creatures.'

Hesitantly Serorian reached up and released the hair clasp that had been grasping the material hiding his face. It fluttered away in a ripple of fine material, and finally Serorian's near-full appearance was visible. Where Harry had naturally expected smooth unblemished skin, he found scars – a crescent moon carved across one high cheekbone, a curving scar ran across the bridge of a noble nose, and a jagged line dented a full lower lip then continued further to half way down the elf's chin.

He could not control the finger that traced these features, feeling anger pulse through his veins that _anyone_ had dared hurt his Soul Mate like this. The vibrant eye he already loved was closed, and elegant hands were clenched into fists – the tickle of shame coming from the bond was enough to make his magic snarl.

'They did this to you?'

Eye still closed, Serorian nodded sharply at the rough whisper,

'I am fortunate to have been physically stronger than my keepers – my marks are not nearly as bad nor as numerous as those of several of my companions. Many good elves have been lost to suicide, driven by the belief that their ugliness would bring shame upon their Intended – a view enforced by the Keepers. Rather than do so, the Cursed end their lives convinced that their Intended would be the better for it.'

Harry's heart clenched sickly at the idea, and he cupped that quietly noble face with his palms, tilting it upwards,

'Promise me now that you will never, ever believe that I would be better off without you.'

The turquoise eye fluttered open, dark with some emotion blocked from their bond,

'I cannot. I can however promise my life to you. Whether you bond with me or not, my life is yours to do with as you please. Even if that is all I may give you, then I will be content.'

'Do you really value your life so lowly?'

Unexpectedly, the elf smiled – fully evident this time - and it was beautiful enough to steal Harry's breath away,

'On the contrary. I simply value you above all else. Not even all the jewels that reside under that stars and moon could compare to your worth.'

Impulsively the Wizard leant forward and pressed a kiss to the crescent moon etched into the elf's cheek,

'Then my opinion must mean a lot. Believe me when I say this – your scars only add to your beauty. They're testaments to your strength and determination... and I admire you greatly for it.'

Delicate pink bloomed across the elf's cheeks, and the shy smile he gave almost caused Harry's heart to stop.

'Thank you Beloved.'

It was the teenager's turn to blush, and he looked away to clear his throat, acutely feeling as if he'd been sappy enough for one day.

'So... uh... you're a hybrid right? Sea Elf and Mountain Elf... what other elves are there?'

'There are seven species, each mostly talented in magics and skills suited to their environment – Wood Elves, High Elves, Mountain Elves, Sea Elves, River Elves, Light Elves and Dark Elves. My Mother's people the Sea Elves are particularly good with air and water elemental magic and are often naturally blessed with the ability to Songsmith – that is, using their voice to cast magic – and sometimes shapeshifting. My Father's people the Mountain Elves are associated with the all of the elements alongside superior battling skills, herblore and Crafting. They have an affinity to those animals closest to the elements.'

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully,

'So, other than elemental stuff, you're good at Songsmithing and Crafting, whatever that means... can you shapeshift?'

Another heart-stopping smile,

'Of course.'

The teen must have blinked, because the next thing he knew, he had an unusual looking cat sitting on his knee. He cocked his head thoughtfully - it was the mismatching eyes and slight purple sheen to the cat's dark fur that hinted at its exotic nature; otherwise it looked just like an ordinary cat. Another blink later and Serorian was back in elf form looking decidedly unruffled by his quick transformation,

'That is the form I use most often – my Earth form.'

'So you have others?'

'Yes, I have achieved an Air and a Water form... I had only just begun earning my Fire form when I was imprisoned.'

The elf's head suddenly tilted and a turquoise eye flickered towards Harry's bedroom door,

'It appears that we will be disturbed momentarily.'

In a show of speed that left Harry blinking, Serorian fully redressed himself and strapped his knives and sword back in to place within a minute before looking back towards his Intended, eye twinkling with humour,

'How do you feel about owning a new magical animal?'

Harry grinned,

'I always wanted a cat.'

'Then it shall be so.'

Within seconds Serorian was back in cat form. The teen smiled,

'Do you mind if I give you a collar?'

The cat simply sat and looked up at him serenely in response. Taking that as an agreement Harry transfigured an old belt into a simple turquoise collar – the exact same shade as the elf's eye. In cat form it remained the same vibrant shade, but the other was purple. The teen stared at it curiously for a second, and then decided to ask later. Quickly branding the name 'Sero' onto the collar, the Wizard knelt to put it on, and was startled into a laugh when, upon doing so, the cat jumped nimbly onto his shoulder and proceeded to clean it's paw.

Carefully Harry sat back on his bed and began to scratch Sero behind the ear just as someone knocked forcefully on his door,

'Harry, dear! Breakfast is ready!'

'Okay, be down in a sec!'

The Intended pair listened as heavy footsteps retreated, and then Harry stood,

'You remember I said there are a lot of people in the house right?'

Sero mewled in response keeping his balance easily as his Wizard carefully opened the door and headed down the corridor.

'Well, prepare yourself. They can get a bit noisy.'

Silently Harry entered the dining room, feeling that by now familiar sense of curiosity curling down the tentative bond. As usual the room was a hive of activity – alongside the Weasley clan, the majority of which practically lived at Grimmauld Place by now, various Order members were forever popping in and out. Today it was Tonks and Moody sat at the table evidently having just flooed in, the former staring doe-eyed at an oblivious looking Remus, and the latter sitting in his usual ready manner with his glass eye staring disconcertingly in completely the opposite direction to his real one.

For once the room was slightly subdued – no doubt in part due to Moody's presence, and another due to Remus' haggard expression. Mrs Weasley could be heard bustling around in the adjoining kitchen, and her brood were alternatively gathered around the radio or conversing quietly at the table. Ron wasn't at the table yet, but no doubt he'd be lured out of bed by the scent of food soon enough.

'Morning Remus. Are you ok?'

The werewolf jerked to attention, evidently having been lost in thought, and tired amber-tinted eyes met emerald with open affection,

'Good morning Cub, I'm as well as can be expected thank you. I see you have a new friend.'

Harry smiled widely,

'Yeah, this is Sero. I found him last night on the way back from the library.'

'That ain't an ordinary cat.'

The teenager's expression remained serene as he scratched Sero behind the ear, both unbothered by Moody's dangerous tone,

'I know... and if you so much as look at him wrong, I'll be hiring the twins to make your life a living hell you paranoid bastard.'

Hermione's scandalised screech clashed with Moody's harsh laughter while Harry merely sat between the last remaining Marauder and his best friend, calmly serving himself some breakfast as the Auror's chuckles wound down,

'I ain't one to scare easy, but that's a threat enough to make the Dark Lord quake in his boots. I won't touch it 'long as it steers clear of me.'

'Where did you say you found him?'

Remus was staring at the cat with curious eyes, slightly disconcerted to find the cat regarding him back in the exact same way,

'On the way back from the library. I heard a ruckus coming from an alleyway, and me being me, I went to have a look. Turns out Sero was having a bit of a disagreement with some of his fellow cats. After that he just kind of followed me home.'

Amusement wound down the bond, making the teen smile absently, even as Sero leapt gently from his shoulder and onto Remus' lap. There he curled up and began to purr gently, somehow soothing the edges of tension from the weary werewolf. A scarred hand hesitantly stroked through dark plum coloured fur,

'Well he's certainly magical – no ordinary cat would even stay in the same room as me. Something of the werewolf shines through and scares them away.'

'He likes you – and anyway, I know he's magical – how many purple cats have you seen?'

The werewolf laughed,

'You have me there. You should show him to Hagrid – maybe he'd have a better idea of what he is.'

'It doesn't bother me, not knowing. I'm just happy he's sticking around. Hungry Sero?'

A feeling to the positive came down the bond, and Sero looked up at him with content mismatching eyes,

'Bacon?'

A feeling to the negative,

'Fruit?'

A feeling to the positive followed by wondering, making Harry smile again,

'Fruit it is then. Do you mind Moony? He's happy where he is.'

'How... I mean, I don't mind, but... how do you know what he wants?'

'We bonded.'

Hermione was instantly at his elbow, clutching at his arm with her eyes shining,

'Bonded with a capital 'B'?

Harry shifted a little, expression quizzical as he began to cut up various bits of fruit for his Soulmate, slightly unsure to how much he would want,

'Uh... yes... I guess?'

'Harry! Do you know how dangerous that is!? For all you know it could be a Dark Creature! Or the bonding ritual could have gone wrong! Wait... you didn't exchanged blood did you?'

Seeing the rising panic in his friend's eyes, he was quick to sooth it away,

'Hermione, we didn't exchange blood. We did no bonding ritual. He had ample opportunity last night to kill me in my sleep. Besides, I can feel his emotions, and they're about as far from evil as you can get. You've offended him by the way.'

He pointed to Sero who was somehow able to transmit the fact that he was currently glaring at the girl.

'In addition, if you ever use the words 'Dark Creature' to imply evil ever again, then I will slap you silly.'

The smile he gave his friend was anything but amiable and green eyes flickered towards his downcast pseudo-Godfather and away again, prompting guilty realisation to grow in Hermione's eyes,

'Oh, I'm sorry Remus, I didn't mean...'

'It's alright Hermione, you get used to it after a while.'

Hermione winced at the sad tone he used. Now the scholarly girl found herself on the end of not one, but three glares – one from Sero, one from Harry and the other from Tonks, whose hair was rapidly turning crimson in annoyance.

'I... I just meant... we don't know its intentions...'

'I do. Currently his intentions are to eat fruit, and then follow me about for the rest of the day.'

Sero purred from where he was still curled up on Remus' lap, nuzzling the scarred hand that was feeding him fruit from the plateful Harry had set in front of the werewolf, and looked at his Intended meaningfully.

'...and apparently drag Moony along with us. Told you he likes you. I hope you don't mind?'

A little spark appeared in the werewolf's eyes again as he smiled at his Godson,

'As long as you don't mind.'

'Don't be an idiot, of course I don't.'

Conversation broke off momentarily as Ron finally stumbled bleary eyed into the room, zeroing in immediately on the only remaining empty spot beside Hermione. The lanky redhead thumped down is his seat, smiled sleepily at his two best friends, and then did a double-take as he spotted the plum-coloured cat currently chewing on a piece of mango with obvious approval. Blue eyes widened,

'Bloody hell, what's with the cat?!'

Harry sighed.

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**R&R. If you've got any questions about Elven society feel free to ask, but it will be covered in later chapters.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, its works and all its characters belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling. Serorian, his kin and all those that hunt him are mine.**

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**Val – 'Is there some kind of hierarchy? If yes, do the Elven species each have its own or are they somehow connected?'**

_**Yes, there is a hierarchy system in Elven society, but it isn't dictated by species. Species is simply a matter of genetics, and while important to an elf and which skills it is best at, it is the equivalent of differing humans having different hair or eye colour. The Elven hierarchy system is rather archaic unfortunately – based on power (both magical and political) as well as ancestry. That said, as with all countries with a Monarchy, there have been uprisings and some Kingdoms are ruled by those who have gained their position through civil war, outright assassination or rebellion. Elves are generally of the opinion that if a ruler exhibited behaviour that warranted such drastic action, then they probably deserved everything they got.**_

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_**Dear 'Guest' who has problems with my slow updates.**_

_**I have a life, deal with it. Also, if you'd actually deigned to read my profile you'd have already found out that not only have I written and published two other stories whilst writing 'Two Halves of Safety', but also that I have ADD and another 60 stories on the go. Thank you for reminding me of how disappointing my mental condition makes me to myself and others.**_

_**I'm sorry my updates are slow, I'm sorry that I only update within a month (and never any longer thank you very much), I'm sorry it frustrates you, but I am only human. **_

_**So here's what I suggest. Leave. Forget about my fic for a while. Come back in, say, a year or something? Maybe by then it will be complete and you will have no room for complaint. Easy.**_

_**Your humble servant, **_

_**Silver**_

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**Thank you once again for all reviews, follows and viewings. You make me smile. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.**

**WARNING: This is a slash fic. I said so in the summary. If you've persisted despite your hatred of MalexMale relationships then I suggest you leave.**

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Breakfast had been even more draining than usual for Harry, as accustomed as he was by now to the noise and clamour of Grimmauld Place's residents. He was shy by nature, and quiet by nurture, and so with the events of recent days, the morning meal passed with nary a word from our resident hero.

Sero perched nimbly on Remus' lap, purring happily as he was fed fruit and gently petted between mouthfuls. Even so mismatched eyes were fixed on Harry, watching as emerald green eyes lingered on each of the room's occupants. The teenager was unable to help himself going over every memory he had, searching each for any hint that the people who in his heart he referred to as family, might be part of Dumbledore's little game. It made his soul ache that he found any room for suspicion at all.

Why had Mrs Weasley lingered outside the station all those years ago? She'd been speaking loudly about Muggles and which platform to take – but surely she'd know already, having had 3 sons who already attended Hogwarts and even having attended herself? She must have made the trip countless times already. So why? Was Ron in on it too? And Hermione? Harry swallowed convulsively and pushed away his plate, appetite lost under the crushing weight of paranoia.

He jumped as a light weight settled on his lap and luxuriously soft fur pressed against his bare arm, startling him into looking down into mismatching turquoise and violet eyes. Harry cracked a grin as a cold wet nose nuzzled against his cheek, and he scratched his soulmate behind the ear making him purr. Love and comfort wrapped around the bond, prompting the wizard to sigh and sit back, abandoning any pretense of eating to simply bask in the foreign, but very much welcome, emotions.

Remus smiled as he watched the pair interact, pleasantly startled to note a look of utter peace sweeping over his Godson's face. Quietly, so not to disturb them, he asked,

'Not hungry Harry?'

The teen tilted his head, but didn't look up at his Godfather from where he was petting Sero,

'Not really, no.'

Harry was thankful that Remus didn't press the issue – it would have been a different matter entirely if Molly Weasley had been in the room at that point – and instead just asked if he was ready to leave the room. Sero lead the way, and soon they were strolling silently along an unfamiliar corridor, only just able to keep the darkly coloured cat in sight as he was easily swallowed by the gloom of the Black townhouse.

'How are you really Cub?'

Harry glanced at his pseudo-Godfather, blinking once at the sight of oddly iridescent pupils glinting at him in the near-dark, lending a hint of the hidden beast to the appearance of the otherwise ordinary, kindly looking man.

'It's hard, but I'm coping. It doesn't help being here, but it's better than being with the Dursleys I guess. How about you?'

Remus sighed,

'I wish I could say I was coping as well as you are... but I would be lying. Even Moony is in mourning.'

The green eyed teen quirked an eyebrow,

'He misses Sirius?'

He got a shrug in response,

'More Padfoot than Sirius, but since they were one and the same...'

The teenage nodded with understanding as they turned a corner, but then halted as he realised Sero was no longer in front of them.

'Sero?'

There was a muffled 'meow' and a pair of bright eyes suddenly appeared from behind a tapestry. Then the wizards realised he wasn't _behind _it, he was _through_ it.

'What the hell? A secret door? Is there a room?'

A feeling of affirmation came down the bond. Unknowing of this Remus shook his head,

'It's probably a hidden corridor – the place is riddled with them. A room would be heavily warded; certainly enough so that even a simple cat couldn't enter.'

Harry felt a thrill of indignation from the bond and chuckled, remembering his soulmate's admittance of elves being naturally vain,

'You're forgetting that Sero isn't an ordinary cat. Anyway, he says it's a room. Is it safe for us Sero?'

Affirmation followed a wave of affection, and trustingly Harry pressed his hand against the tapestry, somewhat startled as he met a little resistance and then sank in up to his wrist. Throwing a wild grin to the worried werewolf, he stepped through. For a moment it felt as if he were striding though treacle but then he emerged with a gasp into a large open space.

The room was dark and musty, stuffy with the scent of old books and years of dust. There were no windows or portraits, and no fireplace, but a faint glow came from several unusual looking rocks dotted around the room which, after the wizard took a step forward, flared into life one after the other. Revealed by the soft golden light were a beautiful mahogany desk and matching bookshelves which extended back at least 50ft into the room. Every surface was thick with dust, but even so it appeared grand – velvet seats, rigid but heavily cushioned sofas, a drinks cabinet still stocked with half full bottles of some amber liquid, hundreds upon thousands of books all impeccably kept and neatly ordered and a soft, thick carpet that Harry reasoned you could probably swim though.

A taller figure emerged behind him moments later, bumping into him and grasping his shoulders to prevent them both from falling. Sero wound around their ankles for short while, a feeling akin to laughter echoing from him, and then the feline ventured into the gently lit room.

'What is this place?'

Remus stared over his Godson's shoulder, and then shrugged,

'I... I'm not sure... but I think this is Lord Black's private study. Sirius told me about it years ago – he was determined to find it and sneak me in, but he never managed. How on earth did Sero find this?'

The feline was obscured by bookshelves by now, but even so Harry felt a trickle of smugness. The teen laughed lightly,

'He's extraordinary, that's how. Come on, there must be thousands of books here.'

Tentatively they moved further into the room, coughing slightly as their movement caused dust to swirl like mist around them. After a shared glance the teen went one way and the werewolf went another, and soon Harry could hear his pseudo-Godfather murmuring delightedly over various books a few aisles over.

Harry meanwhile wandered further, fingers dancing over the spines of a few books occasionally but generally more interested in seeing the extent of the room rather than the contents. He turned a corner, and arms wrapped around his waist from behind, startling the wizard. The scent of honeyed fruit and fresh air swept over him, causing him to relax, but if it had been anyone else they would have found themselves receiving a nasty reducto to the chest. Shakily he exhaled, slipping his wand back up his sleeve,

'Jesus, you scared the hell out of me!'

Quiet laughter brushed warmly against his ear, causing him to shiver,

'I apologise Beloved, but I found the temptation too irresistible to bear.'

'Much as you found the temptation to explore last night I'm guessing?'

'You guess correctly. An elf rarely sleeps beyond a few hours in this realm – the passing of time is so much slower here – and as such I found myself becoming restless.'

'So you found this place. How _did_ you find it?'

'I wandered the corridors invisible to all eyes, and the scent of old books came to me as I passed the tapestry we entered through. Knowledge is an irresistible lure to an elf.'

An angular chin rested against Harry's shoulder, followed by a sigh,

'I admittedly had an ulterior motive in leading you here however. Your werewolf – he is sick at heart. You have told me of your fondness for him, so it seemed wise to tell you. From your tales of him and his attachment to your father and his friends, I would guess that the near annihilation of his Pack is causing a significant strain on his well-being. He is fortunate for your affection, as your presence in his life no doubt sustains him, but he is unwell and likely to deteriorate further if his Pack does not increase in size soon.'

Harry all but stopped breathing throughout this apologetically toned explanation, and turned quickly in the elf's embrace, emerald eyes wide and scared, only slightly soothed by the bond,

'What... I mean... will he...?'

'He will not die Beloved, not while you remain. If it were not for that he would either submit to a broken heart or become a Lone Wolf. His personality would alter beyond recognition... he would become... feral. Wolves are social creatures by nature, they need Pack to remain healthy – it is no different for a werewolf.'

'Then what... how can I help him?'

'Physical contact may sooth some of the ache from his heart for now. He hides it well, even from you, but his pain is near constant. I could sense it clearly as soon as I entered into proximity with him. I would like you to tell him about me.'

'What?'

Serorian chuckled at the incredulous expression he was being afforded with, and ran calloused fingers over the teen's soft cheek,

'You trust him as you trust few others. The werewolf is devoted to you; he will not betray you, and will slowly accept me over time when my intentions prove honourable. It of course helps that we are Intended. He will see me as Pack, as I am essentially your mate. It will help him a little.'

'Are you sure? I mean, I don't mind telling him – but isn't this a risk for you?'

'I would risk anything to maintain your happiness.'

Harry gave a wry smile,

'Your devotion to me is a little scary at times.'

'I will not apologise for that Beloved.'

'I don't expect you to. Okay, so I should tell him now, while we're somewhere relatively private. Um… do you have any idea where he is?'

Serorian tilted his head,

'Follow this corridor and you will soon come upon him. I will remain in my Earth form for the time being.'

'Okay.'

A blink later Sero appeared at his feet, purring happily when he was picked up and held close as Harry strode purposefully down the corridor. As the elf predicted, they soon came across Remus sitting crosslegged in a wide corner, looking rather content surrounded by a pile of books, one of which was open in his hands.

'Hello Cub, finished exploring?'

'For now. Can I sit with you?'

'Of course.'

Harry ignored the startled expression he received as he all but snuggled into the werewolf's side, but felt the telling movement as the elder man instinctively curled closer, like a freezing man seeking warmth from a fire. He opened his mouth intending to tell all, but instead ended up asking a question that had been plaguing him for a while,

'I've always wondered – what did you do after the war? Where did you go?'

Remus was quiet for a moment, but then sighed,

'I always knew you'd ask one day. I'm afraid the answer isn't a simple one.'

The golden eyed man paused for a second, as if gathering his thoughts, and then began,

'Did you know the Dark Lord had an alliance with the werewolves? Fenrir Greyback wanted power over all werewolves, and he was promised that in return for his services. As a… creature of his creation, I was considered his property and I defied all sorts of Pack Laws to eventually break away from him... but I wasn't to do that until a few years later. Dumbledore had me spying on my Alpha… on Greyback… and that's where I was when James and Lily died. I felt it instantly – I could barely move for a week – and by the time I could, Sirius was already in prison. It was like a double blow. I'd lost everyone I cared about in a matter of a week. I didn't know if Peter was dead, I honestly never considered him pack enough to form a bond with him, but for all I knew back then I was completely alone. Sirius was still alive, yes, but the thrall of the Dementors hid him from me. It was… painful.'

'But I was still there.'

Remus smiled faintly, and hugged his Godson to his side briefly,

'Yes, you were my saving grace. Amidst the heartache and the tugging of insanity, I could feel you. As soon as I could, I left the Pack and went to Dumbledore…'

Here he trailed off, and looked down into green eyes carefully, but Harry's expression didn't change,

'I know he's a manipulative old coot, if that's what you're worried about.'

Remus relaxed slightly,

'Oh good. I wasn't sure… you always seemed to have such faith in him. I didn't quite know how to tell you not to trust him so easily. I admit I was selfish – I didn't want to give you reason to dislike me.'

'It's alright, I understand. What happened when you went to Dumbledore?'

'I was basically told to sod off.'

Harry squeaked in shock,

'What?'

'Yes, exactly. I was told in no uncertain terms that no will had been discovered, and anyway, I was a werewolf, so there was no way in hell I'd be given custody of you. My reaction was somewhat… uncomplimentary. I knew for a fact that James had recently updated his Last Will and Testament – I mean, he was pigheaded at times sure, but he loved you more than anything. While there was even the slightest chance that he and Lily might die – and come on, he was an Auror with the Dark Lord hunting him down for Merlin's sake – he wanted to ensure that you would be safe and happy no matter what. The idea that he might not have written a Will at all, let alone updated it after he went into hiding is simply ludicrous – if nothing else, Lily would have _made_ him do it. As overprotective as a tiger that one.'

'Do you know what was in the Will?'

The werewolf nodded,

'Of course, James and Lily told us after you were born – we were all there by the way – you were cute as a button from the very start. You were to go to Sirius primarily, or me in the event that he was unable. They had the Longbottoms and even Snape down as a failsafe in case we were unable to fulfil our duties.'

'Wait, what? Snape? Why the hell would they give me to him!? He hates me!'

The look the teen received was somewhat scolding,

'Harry, that man is one of the bravest, most selfless men I know. He and Lily were best friends for years, and she trusted him implicitly. He was quite simply in love with her, and was broken hearted when she chose the man that had tormented him for years over him. He doesn't hate you; you are simply a reminder of his loss and pain. I don't doubt that he'd do absolutely anything to keep Lily's child safe.'

Emerald green eyes were wide at this revelation, and could only stare as Remus continued,

'A long story short, the Wizarding population was terrorized for years by Greyback and his minions, and by the end of the war anti-werewolf feeling was at an all-time high. I was attacked countless times – aurors, hateful citizens and former pack alike were all out to get me – so when it became evident that I would die or become imprisoned if I remained, I left the country. When things had died down enough that I could return, I did so, and immediately leapt at the chance to become your teacher. I knew it couldn't last, but I was desperate to see you.'

'And then Sirius escaped.'

Remus laughed, but it was a broken sound, marred by loss,

'Yes - that brilliant, troublesome man. Trust him to be the first to escape Azkaban. I had always felt deep down that he couldn't have been the Secret Keeper – the very idea that he would betray someone he considered a brother like that, or put you in danger was just… wrong. He would have done anything for James and Lily, and he was absolutely besotted with you.'

Here his bittersweet smile widened into a grin, and he looked slyly down at his avidly listening Godson,

'You were besotted with him too. So much so that your first word was 'Pa'foot'. Lily was livid – she didn't speak to Sirius for a week, and only then let him back in the house because you wouldn't stop crying. Padfoot was so proud that he then and there proclaimed you to be his heir – he swore an Oath to love you always… and I don't doubt that both sustained and tormented him while locked up in Azkaban.'

They were silent for a moment, both lost in their respective thoughts, and then Harry all but whispered,

'Did you love him?'

The werewolf's distant eyes dulled instantly, and he paused as if fighting past some physical pain, voice too reduced to a whisper,

'Yes. With all my heart.'

'I'm sorry.'

With that Remus seemed to return to himself, and hugged Harry to him with a sad smile,

'It's not your fault. He went out fighting, protecting you – just the way he would have wanted. He's probably happily getting mocked by James right now. Death by curtain… I can almost hear them joking about it.'

Harry snorted weakly at the idea, and then silence fell again. The teenage almost jumped when Sero shifted on his lap, a wave of apology coming down the bond as the cat settled more comfortably. Gently Harry scratched him under the chin, feeling a renewed sense of purpose as love warmed him from the inside out,

'I want to tell you something.'

'Okay.'

'I haven't told anyone else… but I trust you, so I think you should know…'

Now the werewolf was beginning to look visibly worried. Harry smiled reassuringly,

'It's nothing bad. In fact it's a very good thing…' he took a deep breath before continuing, '… I have a soulmate.'

Amber eyes lit up like Christmas had come early,

'You mean…?'

'The other half of my soul – the real thing.'

'That's fantastic Cub! Exceedingly rare, but then the improbable has a habit of becoming probable around you. Are you sure? I mean, it's not just infatuation or someone saying so...'

The teen shook his head,

'I'm sure. The first time we saw each other I felt safe. Like... coming home or something... and then after we touched I could _feel_ him – his emotions – and it was just... right. As if I'd known him all my life.'

'So it's a man? It's not a problem or anything, I just didn't know you... uh... swung that way.'

Harry laughed,

'Well he's certainly male. I guess I never really thought about it before. He's... very attractive though. Beautiful, if that's word you can apply to a man.'

A wave of emotion came down the bond – happiness... tainted a little by relief. The wizard frowned slightly, reminded of his Intended's scars,

'I want to introduce you to him. I'm just... not sure how you'll react.'

An arm went round his shoulder, squeezing him further into the werewolf's side,

'If he's your soulmate then I can only react positively.'

'Even if he isn't human?'

The werewolf froze at the weakly toned question, following the green eyed gaze down to a content looking feline,

'Cub... what..?'

'Sero isn't a cat. I mean, he is, right now anyway. But his real name is Serorian.'

'If he isn't a cat, then what...?'

'Have you ever heard of the Elves?'

'House Elves?'

Dawning realisation was growing in amber eyes, despite the question. Harry shook his head as Sero climbed off of his lap,

'No. A real Elf.'

A blink later and Serorian sat before them in all his exotic glory – looking anything but human in his warrior's garb and obscuring headwear. A deeply turquoise eye twinkled with humour, no doubt at the gaping expression he was being afforded with by the werewolf.

'Holy shit.'

Harry chuckled at the breathy tone,

'That about sums it up.'

Serorian simply laughed in response.

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**R&R if you want. You can also look me up on my Twitter (SilverPenn) where I will be giving regular updates as to progress.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, its works and all its characters belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling. Serorian, his kin and all those that hunt him are mine. **

**Thank you once again for all reviews, follows and viewings. It's nice to see people liking what I do and how I do it – it gives me the confidence to keep on posting, so really, thank you. Sorry it's taken so long – just started an MSc so everything is a bit hectic at the moment.**

**WARNING: This is a slash fic. I said so in the summary. Seriously, if you've gotten this far and still want to say homophobic things then I question your sanity.**

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'You're an Elf.'

'Yes.'

'A real life, honest to Merlin, pointy eared Elf.'

'I am.'

'But… the Elves all died didn't they? They were all killed in the Battle of Evensong! It's says so in the history books!'

Rich laughter filled the musty room, some fresh breeze born from the delightful noise stirring and freshening the stagnant air surrounding the three men. Remus Lupin, mouth agape, stared stunned at this supposedly impossible visage. Harry Potter meanwhile pressed a hand to his chest as he grinned, the rusty yet unerringly beautiful laughter causing his heart to pound and his soul to shiver once again.

Serorian wiped a stray tear from his singularly visible sparkling eye, still chuckling, and a flush of humour dusting his cheeks, only just visible as the flimsy material over his face fluttered with his breath,

'Ah the arrogance of Wizard-kind. It is a trait our species share, though ours sees more value in fact than false pride. A mere handful of Elves died in the Battle – if you may call it that. Fifty Elves fought fifty Wizards, and neither side came out the victor. Never-the-less, Elven life is precious to us, and we saw no value in remaining in this Realm when our attempts at joining our Kingdoms were met with murder and rape. That pitiful battle was the last disastrous interaction we were to tolerate, and soon afterwards we returned to the Immortal Realms and barred the gates. Never to return.'

'Yet here you are. How is that? Surely the Elves don't intend to return after all?'

Here Serorian sobered slightly, eye still crinkled with the remnants of his earlier laughter,

'I should not be considered representative of my kind. The Elves have no intention of returning, and would rather have me dead than be here. That soldiers of the High Kingdom followed me to the Mortal Realm at all speaks of their desperation.'

Amber eyes narrowed,

'What do you mean? Why would soldiers attack you for coming through?'

'Because I am Intended to your Godson. For daring to be born to love a Wizard it is considered my duty to allow myself to be imprisoned. For daring to escape to pursue that love it is considered_ their_ duty to murder me. I am a wilful abomination. I am the worst kind of Cursed.'

'Cursed?'

Here Harry interjected, taking hold of his soulmate's hand and squeezing it gently as the elf exhaled sharply in frustration, not really wanting to explain all over again,

'That's what they call Elves who are Intended to mortals.'

Remus' gaze flickered over their joined hands, and then up to Serorian's by now serene expression,

'… just how many of them are there to have earned their own nickname?'

The serene façade cracked momentarily as the elf recalled some bygone horror and Harry gasped clutching at his suddenly tight chest, feeling foreign guilt and sadness lurch into existence within him. Serorian's voice was deepened by restrained grief as he spoke, and a turquoise eye squeezed shut as he forced his emotions away from the bond,

'A thousand or more that I have knowledge of. The prisons are laden with those like myself, locked away, mutilated, forced to hate themselves for reasons beyond their blame. I was all I could do to free those from my chamber – 100 or so Cursed… and it pleases me that they were able to taste the fresh air once again, to gaze upon an unshackled sky. Yet it haunts me that I could do no more. That I could not free them all from that endless torment. I can only imagine how many more have succumbed. How many more have been condemned to that torturous fate. I am sick at heart with it.'

Instinctively Harry sought to sooth his Intended, somehow knowing exactly how to send his love and comfort so that the elf's eye regained a little of its spark again. The elf sent his Beloved a brief grateful smile before continuing,

'I could have stayed. Tried again. Tried harder. But I did not. The weight of prophecy hung on my shoulders, and so I left, knowing that if I did not then I would eventually be killed or re-imprisoned for an eternity. With that my Beloved, my Harry, would gain only some lack-lustre love from an inferior partner – a lifetime of soul deep ache that he could never fully understand. The fate of my world… the fate of this one would mean little to me if he were unhappy.'

Deep turquoise stared into emerald green with clear love, and Remus had to clear his throat to gain the elf's attention again, fighting a smile as he did so,

'So… um… should we expect more of these… soldiers that were after you?'

Serorian tilted his head thoughtfully,

'It is likely… but I will protect your Godson with my very life… and I will protect you also.'

'Me?'

The Elf's eye finally crinkled into a smile again at the bewildered question,

'Yes. You are in Harry's heart, and so you are in mine. Family.'

The werewolf didn't seem to know quite how to respond to this, but the smile he'd been withholding tugged at the corners of his mouth. Serorian turned to his Intended and lovingly ran calloused fingers along the sharp angle of the teen's jaw, shoulders tight with some suppressed emotion,

'I shall leave you for now, Beloved. I do not doubt your Godfather has much to discuss with you. If you have need of me simply call my name and I shall return to you.'

'Promise?'

Serorian kissed him lightly on the lips through the veil, silky material soft against their skin,

'I Vow it.'

With that the elf returned to his Earth form and slinked away, disappearing quickly into the shadows the shelves cast no doubt to dwell on or recover from his dark thoughts. Harry shivered at the tendril of soul magic that wended its way through him, and touched his fingertips to his lips, scarcely able to believe that he hadn't just hallucinated that brief blissful moment.

Remus chuckled at his stunned expression,

'You look exactly like James did, the first time Lily kissed him.'

'…I think I'll take that as a compliment. Did she just kiss him out of the blue too?'

Emerald eyes shifted from where they looked after the elf, and met the amber of his affectionate Godfather curiously.

'Sort of. Your father, while an idiot at times and a bit blind when it came to Slytherins, believed very strongly in gender equality. Someone at the Gryffindor table made a comment about how women should be seen and not heard, and he quite vehemently tore the individual a new one. This was the 80's mind you, so women's rights had progressed significantly by then, but even so it was a controversial thing for one of the Noble families to loudly declare that women are in every way equal to men. Lily was very proud of him. She kissed him for the first time then and there. It was the turning point in their relationship I think.'

'I didn't know that about Dad.'

The werewolf smiled,

'He was a good man… with Lily's support he became a great one. Serorian seems like a good man too.'

'He is.'

'How do you feel about the whole soulmate thing? It's all a bit sudden isn't it?'

Harry laughed lightly,

'I loved him the moment I set eyes on him. I can't explain it, but it feels right. He makes me happy.'

'Then you have my full support Cub. I've got to ask though – what's with the…?'

A scarred hand indicated towards his face, miming the edges of that obscuring piece of material. Harry shrugged, lips quirking unhappily,

'It's to hide his scars. Apparently it's common practice in the prisons to mark and torture the Cursed so that they're less likely to try and escape. Elves are very vain… the way he put is was that it was to enforce the idea that they could only bring shame upon their Intended… and that suicide was the only way out.'

'Cub, that's horrible! Is it… is it bad? His scarring?'

The teenager shook his head hastily, green eyes wide and earnest,

'He's beautiful! I mean, seriously, I've never seen anyone just so… perfect! Half the time I'm looking at him, I feel like I'm dreaming! The scars are there, sure, but even those look like a work of art. I can feel his shame though, and his fear that I'll be disgusted or something and its… it pisses me off that anyone would do that to him. Do that to anyone in fact.'

'…and his eye… is that…?'

Here the younger wizard hesitated,

'I… I don't know. It's still there I think – he has two eyes when he's in his Earth form – but I haven't asked why he hides it yet. I haven't had time. There's so much I don't know yet!'

'His Earth form?'

'Yeah, Sero… the whole cat thing I mean. Apparently he can shapeshift into two other animals – his Water and Air forms, but I haven't seen them yet.'

'… You don't seem to know very much about him Cub.'

Harry frowned at the reprimanding tone, emerald eyes flashing defensively up at his Godfather,

'My soul at the very least has known him since the very beginning; the rest of me just needs to catch up that's all. Do you know he's the reason I survived Voldemort's attempt to kill me when I was a baby? There he was, freshly imprisoned because of me and barely out of childhood himself, and he suddenly feels my life draining away. He could have let me die, and he'd have been free of the hell Elven society was putting him through, but instead he fed his lifeforce into me. We weren't bonded in the slightest – we hadn't even met – and he underwent what he described as 'agony' to ensure that I lived. He couldn't know that he'd destroy Voldemort in the process, or that we would ever find each other, but he did it anyway because he loved me without even knowing who I was. It's the least I can do to extend him the same courtesy!'

'… So you love him because you think you should?'

Harry threw his hands up in exasperation,

'No! I just love him! There's no 'because' or 'despite' or even an 'as long as' – I just _do_.'

'Alright, alright – I believe you.'

Remus laughed at his fuming Godson, ruffling his hair affectionately, causing the boy to huff indignantly and try in vain to flatten it again. The petulant pout was more adorable than scary but Remus wasn't about to tell Harry that,

'Don't look at me like that. I just had be sure you were serious about this. You love him, I get that… but don't think we should both get to know him a bit better before you do something you can't undo?'

'I'm not a lovesick idiot Moony; I think I can manage a little restraint.'

The werewolf made a disbelieving sound, and laughed again when the teenager huffed and crossed his arms in annoyance.

'Why don't you summon your pretty boyfriend back then Cub. The quicker we get to know him, the sooner you can jump him and have your wicked way.'

'Moony!'

Harry groaned and covered his suddenly burning red face with his hands,

'Don't say things like that! You're an adult – you're not supposed to encourage me to do… that! I haven't even thought about it!'

Remus creased up with laughter, leaning weakly against a conveniently placed shelf as he grinned teary eyed at his Godson,

'Sorry Cub! Embarrassing you is part of my job description.'

The Boy-Who-Lived grumbled under his breath, and after punching his Godfather lightly on the arm, called out for his Intended. The quietly called name was quickly muffled in the stuffy room, but none the less a cat slinked towards them a few minutes later and quickly changed before their eyes. That vibrant turquoise eye was bright with humour, and crinkled down at his Beloved with a hidden smile,

'I could hear the laughter several corridors away. I can only imagine what your Godfather did to provoke such embarrassment from you.'

Pale cheeks burned red again, prompting both elf and werewolf to chuckle. Harry pouted playfully, not beyond seeing the humour of the situation,

'I'm afraid Moony is adamant that I get to know you better before we do anything… interesting.'

That turquoise eye sparkled,

'Now I am most intrigued. Is this the only condition I must fulfil before compromising your virtue?'

Remus choked on thin air at this and Harry blushed further, but laughed all the same,

'According to him, yes.'

'No! No it isn't! Dear Merlin, I did not begin the day thinking I'd end up discussing my Godson's virtue!'

Serorian laughed, placing a gentle hand on the werewolf's shoulder,

'Calm, friend. Harry's virtue is safe with me. For now.'

Amber eyes twinkled playfully,

'Oddly enough, that's not entirely reassuring.'

Harry smiled as he watched the pair laughing together, happy that the two most important people in his life were getting on, even if it was slightly at his own expense. Serorian seemed almost cheerful as he settled on the floor before them, all but bouncing into a cross-legged position from the crouch he had been in earlier, previous melancholy seemingly forgotten.

'Now that is settled.' His eye crinkled into a smile as the werewolf spluttered again, 'What would you know of me?'

Harry shifted a little uncomfortably, immediately focusing on that mysterious eye patch. He wanted to know what lay beneath, though he was unsure of how he'd react if his Intended had indeed had his eye cruelly removed… but he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing,

'Can I ask… why do you cover your eye? Is it… um… there?'

A lightly tanned hand tucked a strand of burgundy hair behind the elf's elegantly pointed ear. It was a nervous gesture – not one Harry had seen before. Serorian was smiling no longer. He felt no shame down the bond however, only anticipation.

'It is intact. If you do not mind my revealing my… disfigurements, then I will show you.'

Harry frowned,

'You're not disfigured, and I think you're beautiful. If you want to show your face, you can. I'm not ashamed of you in the slightest ok?'

Serorian nodded slightly, oddly shy, and slowly undid the clasp that kept the material in place. He ducked his head a little as Remus gasped, seeing the scars shocking the werewolf even though he'd known of them, but found his chin caught in a gentle grasp. Carefully Remus tilted that deceptively delicate looking face upwards, apology clear in his eyes,

'Harry's right. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Scars are something I'm very familiar with, and yours are anything but disfiguring. I was simply startled.'

The elf tentatively nodded his thanks, and reached back to untie his eyepatch. He hesitated for a moment but then allowed it to fall away. Serorian blinked a few times to adjust to the unaccustomed light, and then looked at his Beloved, seemingly unsure of the response he'd gain. Both wizards were open-mouthed in amazement. Instead of an empty socket, or some sort of damaged but similarly coloured orb as they reasonably expected was a perfectly healthy eye. The only reason they could see for it to be covered was the fact that instead of being dark turquoise in colour in was an equally vibrant shade of purple, a shade or two bluer than the elf's hair, flecked with gold and almost ridiculously stunning.

The reason for the mismatched eyes of elf's Earth form was suddenly clear, and it was only when Sero blinked again that Harry even noticed the strange line of dots scarring his eyelid, and another framing the lower edge of his eye.

'Just when I thought you couldn't get more beautiful.'

Serorian blushed and ducked his head again but this time coyly at his Beloved's awed tone, a pleased smile tilting the edge of his lips upwards.

'What are these from?'

Harry ran a cautious finger over the lower line of dots, half afraid that it would hurt the elf. They were raised slightly, but as soft as the rest of his skin. Serorian followed suit and traced along the familiar route again and again as he spoke,

'Another casualty of my incarceration.'

'More deliberate scarring?'

'No, Beloved. Or at least, that was not the intention. Rather, my eye was... forcibly sewn shut. A practice designed to not only prevent its use but to also signify to others my lack of worth in possessing such a Gift. I removed the bindings as soon as I escaped.'

Harry grasped that lingering hand in his own, swallowing the cry of outrage that begged to emerge at his soulmate's casual acceptance of such brutal treatment, and he absently entwined their fingers together as his brow furrowed in confusion and restrained displeasure,

'Gift?'

Serorian nodded regally, a small smile tilting up the edges of his lips as his Intended caressed the hand within his grasp,

'Occasionally an Elfling is born with a Gift – a talent if you so wish – which manifests itself as a physical anomaly. I am fortunate enough to have been gifted with Rune Sight, so called as it allows me to see all as it really is. No invisibility charm or even ward is immune to my sight. Unfortunately the mark of a Gift is quite a distinguishing feature, and mine can be detrimental in the course of a fight if surrounded by magics as in the Immortal Realms, hence I have taken to concealing it.'

'Is it rare? Being Gifted I mean.'

The elf nodded at the teenager,

'It is. My family is doubly blessed – my eldest sister is also Gifted, though hers is a talent for War Dance. To see her fight is akin to watching fire sweep through grassland, her hair like lingering flames in the wake of an inferno and the bodies of her foes mere cinders crumbling at her feet. I know of few others, and those both Cursed and Gifted are as rare as dragon's gold.'

'You have a sister?'

'Yes, and an elder brother.'

Harry smiled as an image of an exotically beautiful family, all colourful hair and bright eyes, formed in his mind.

'Will I meet them one day? Your family I mean.'

A strange expression flickered across the elf's face, but no feeling transmitted down the bond as Serorian shrugged elegantly,

'Perhaps, one day. Fifty winters have passed since I was removed from my home, and I have heard little of my family since. I admit I do not anticipate a warm welcome should I ever return. The Cursed are stripped of their familial names upon incarceration, so my family are only such by blood. I was lucky that they did not kill me for shame. Others would have. '

Remus went to comment on this, but was disrupted as Serorian stood, clearly not wanting to elaborate on the evidently painful subject. That beautiful fully exposed face with the vibrant mismatching eyes peered down at them, a small smile tilting the elf's lips, and the light of the crystals sharpening his high cheekbones to razorblades,

'Much time has passed. We should leave before your friends become suspicious of your absence and I confess I have an errand to run.'

Harry stood quickly, reaching out to the elf and for some reason relieved when Sero calmly took his hand,

'An errand?'

Emerald eyes narrowed slightly,

'You're leaving aren't you?'

Serorian stepped closer, absently noticing the werewolf begin to return to books to the shelves by way of giving them some privacy, and ran careful fingers along the sharp edge of his Beloved's jaw,

'I must. For the sake of my soul I must. But I will not go far, and I will not go for long – how could I? I missed your presence long before I met you, and now that I have I admit the feeling can only grow in its keenness. Take heart Beloved, my Vow stands - if you have need of me, call my name and I shall return.'

Harry sighed, reluctant to let the elf go, peering up at the taller male with saddened but bravely humorous emerald eyes,

'Promise?'

The elf grinned, stealing the Wizard's breath with his sheer beauty,

'I Vow it.'

This time as soft lips met his, Harry was quick to reciprocate, curling a hand round the elf's nape and pressing upwards into the kiss, sighing pleasurably as it was extended into a longer one, a sweet press of flesh against flesh, and the scent of rain and sweet fruit filled his lungs. They broke apart, but not far, still close enough to feel breath against their lips and remained so peacefully for a moment,

'I did not think it possible to become any more reluctant to leave Beloved, but you have proved me wrong. None-the-less I must.'

The sentence ended on a slightly grumpy note and Harry laughed, finally pulling back to gaze up at his elf,

'Sorry.'

His tone was utterly unrepentant and caused to elf to laugh quietly in return. Serorian took the hand still lingering at his nape and pressed a kiss to the knuckles before retreating completely. He took a few steps back, gradually being swallowed by shadow, mismatched eyes lingering on emerald as the elf smiled,

'I love you.'

Harry's breath faltered, and his heart seemed to stutter in his chest at the gentle words which fulfilled a barely self-confessed hope. It seemed the elf hadn't forgotten his other promise either. Serorian grinned at him from within the shadow and then completely disappeared before the Wizard could even dredge up a reply. He jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder, and glanced up at his Godfather before turning back to the shadows Serorian had seemingly disappeared into,

'He promised to remind me that he loves me every day. I guess… I didn't think he'd remember.'

'Or that he meant it?'

Harry shrugged looking slightly sheepish,

'Yeah…'

Remus wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and then tugged him along into a walk,

'So far, evidence suggests that Serorian keeps his promises. If he does forget, let me know and I'll gently remind him.'

Harry snorted at the feral grin his Godfather was sporting,

'No offense, but I like my soulmate as he is – un-mutilated and with all his hair.'

The mock-innocence Remus looked down at his Godson with was anything but convincing,

'I'm sure I don't know what you mean Cub.'

Harry laughed, and the werewolf smiled down at the teenager for a moment, not unaware of the elevation in mood that had occurred since Serorian had seemingly stumbled into their lives. The teenager had grown up too fast he thought, and two days ago had seemed almost depressed... and volatile - more than one Grimmauld Place resident had met the sharp side of Harry's tongue recently. It was nice to see him laughing and smiling again. Impulsively Remus pressed a kiss into the wild hair at his shoulder and then pulled his Godson towards the door,

'Come on, I don't know about you, but there's a bar of chocolate hidden somewhere in the kitchen with my name on it.'

'Chocoholic'

Remus' mock-offended reply was muffled as he stepped through the door, and Harry followed, still smiling.

* * *

Serorian emerged from the shadows of a warehouse. He knew roughly where he was in relation to his Beloved though he couldn't name his location, and that bright presence in his heart caused him to smile absently. Wind caressed his cheeks almost lovingly, bare and exposed to the air as they hadn't been for so long, and he purred quietly, feeling the affection of his primary element in the very air he breathed.

He could taste the taint of the Mortal World though, metallic and acrid on his tongue, and he couldn't help the magic that purified the air as it entered his lungs. Privately he craved that sweet, pure air of his own realm, that which he had so taken for granted, but it was a small price to pay. An incredibly small price.

With a gentle sigh the elf progressed further among the grey, ugly buildings, able to see with his uncovered eye the traces of old magic and that of nature itself laced into the very being of the urbanised world around him. It felt greatly like loss. At one time the area had been that of woodland, and ghostly trees still lingered, only visible as he subconsciously activated his rune sight.

A bird fluttered onto his shoulder lightly, chirruping in greeting and then away. His sentinel bird. All was well.

Serorian had not seen it before with his sight fully open, and was not ashamed to admit that he gasped as he finally saw the gateway by which he had entered the Mortal Realm. To all else it was open space, a patch of air that gave no cause for notice. Certainly if a human or wizard passed by, they would not be aware of what lay so casually within their midst.

It was old, Serorian knew, because it was decaying. The magic that had once been so bright and fresh was dull, torn by age and use. It was a miracle that he had managed to pass through safely, especially blind, led only by instinct and the bond that had tugged at him for half a lifetime. One step wrong and his journey would have been cut pre-emptively short. The elf had been driven by desperation though – it had seemed a negligible risk at the time. Now he shuddered, unable to dismiss the thought that he had been so close to death, so reckless as to chance everything he held dear for such a dim possibility. But he had little to live for back then, all of two days ago, with fear a constant shackle and senseless hope all that sustained him. It seemed an impossible task at times, that he would ever escape the realm that sought to kill him, to find that fragile ever-beckoning life that called to his soul. The possibility that he might not had haunted him like an ever-lingering sickness. Nights had been passed in sleepless, soul-aching terror because of it. Shaking his head at the reminder of those grim days, Serorian returned his gaze to that miraculous gate.

It was nothing less than he had expected, and as the world moved on around him the elf began to work, feeding his magic into the walls of the gateway, as one would give a tunnel a new layer of paint, carefully mending the runes that had faded or crumbled with time. His influence slowly permeated through, strengthening the portal and stabilising it's magic. Hopefully, one day soon, it would be used again.

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**Reviews make me happy. Questions are welcome.**


	6. Chp 6 - Serorian: A Beginning

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, its works and all its characters belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling. Serorian, his kin and all those that hunt him are mine. **

**Thank you once again for all reviews, follows and viewings. I have to admit, I dance in my seat whenever I see I have a new review.**

**WARNING: This is a slash fic. I said so in the summary. Seriously, if you've gotten this far and still want to say homophobic things then I question your sanity.**

**NOTE: A few people have asked if Remus will be paired with someone in this fic, and the answer is yes. You'll just have to wait to find out whom.**

**Also, this chapter takes a look at Serorian's life, starting with his arrest. I'm really not sure about this chapter, so let me know what you think, and if you want more of the same occasionally. I just thought a little background might be nice (and saves me trying to fit everything into conversations). I've re-written the last section, so it may be a bit raw. Will improve in a bit.**

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It was the 50th winter Serorian had seen, and the day of his birth was upon him. His dreams were hopeful – light and full of not yet realised happiness – which caused him to smile even in his slumbering state. It was true that rarely a day had gone by without laughter or song, and his life thus far had been content and unsullied by the secret that sometimes weighted his heart. But it could not remain so. It was from this pleasant sleep on this wind-torn night that Serorian was woken abruptly. Elsewhere, in another world, and in another life midnight tolled, and for this unsuspecting elf it came with a burning awareness that heralded his soulmate's entrance into existence. A mere blip of life, a bundle of cells so newly formed that only the Gods could know its gender, and yet Serorian loved it fiercely. Every nerve in his body sang with exhilaration, and for the first time in half a century he knew the full joy of being Intended. It was all he could do to remain awake, bathed in bliss as he was. For hours he lay absorbed in this new, miraculous feeling, and though he knew it was considered wrong he was suddenly glad of his soulmate's mortality. His Intended would be perfect – he could feel it in his very bones.

Not long before dawn had begun to flirt with the hems of the horizon, his door was swept sharply open. Startled from his almost reverent bliss, Serorian leapt from his bed, sword in hand, as ever prepared for attack. His long wine-tinted hair seemed to swirl as if in some wild breeze, curling silkily around his naked torso, mismatched eyes glowing dangerously in the near-dark… but then he lowered his blade in confusion. The faces crowding his doorway were familiar to him. Soldiers, all of them. Imperial Guards. Elves he had trained with, laughed with, shared food, drink and stories with, but today there was no cheerful greeting, or the light of some jollity in their eyes. Some would not meet his gaze, a good number stared with foreign hatred and a few, those poor brave souls who he suddenly loved dearly, looked at him through eyes dulled with grief. Somehow, they knew.

They stood frozen in the doorway, unmoving as he sagged in place, dropping his sword – the precious sword he'd always been so proud of earning – onto the floor with a harsh clang. A few soldiers winced. A couple looked away. The commanding officer, Thymus – his willing tutor, comrade and good friend on any other day – did not look away. Serorian sighed in resignation and then began to dress, donning his favourite green tunic, fixing his customary purple-lined cloak over his shoulders, braiding his hair back with a silver phoenix clasp and finally holding out his arms to be bound. The soldiers continued to stare, and he raised an eyebrow. Impatiently he tapped his booted foot against the ground. They were his battle boots. An unconscious choice, but perhaps fitting.

'I do not think you will want to be seen giving a Cursed such as myself any preferential treatment, no matter who I am. Bind me. Kick me. Curse me if you will. I understand, and I forgive you.'

'It is true then.'

Regret was heavy in Thymus' voice, he of the orange-flecked blue eyes that only yesterday had glittered with laughter like the ocean at sunset as he taught his young friend a sword technique, one passed down to him by his Great Grandfather. Now those same eyes were dark with quietly raging grief. Serorian smiled apologetically, but without shame, shrugging elegantly as he replied,

'I will not deny it. The Gods have bound my soul to that of a mortal… and even if I were able to do so, I would not alter my fate. I accept my sin… just as I accept that you must do this. May I ask, however, how I have been discovered?'

Thymus shifted uncomfortably, throwing a scowl at one of the soliders who muttered cruel words beneath her breath before returning his troubled gaze to the burgundy-haired elf,

'The Skydwellers. They noticed some change in the stars, and saw your fate as clearly as if it had been written in Elvish. They said you were Intended to a mortal, and that one day you would leave this Kingdom, only to return with your bonded _wizard_ by your side. Together you and he would change the fate of the Kingdoms forever.'

The word 'wizard' was spat with venom that Serorian had seldom heard from the genial elf before. At this very moment it mattered not however and the duel-eyed elf tilted his head curiously, feeling this information settle in his mind. It felt right, and despite the circumstances he couldn't help but feel happier still,

'A man then… and a wizard too. I did not know. I only felt his heart begin to beat this very night. Already I love him for I can do nothing else.'

'I am bound as you are; only it is your imprisonment that I am tasked to fulfil. I am sorry. Another day, another lifetime and I would have called you friend.'

Serorian smiled gently,

'I will always remember you fondly Thymus. I cannot help who I love. Do with me what you will.'

He held out his arms once more, unflinching as they were this time caught in a strong grip by a scowling elf – Fagan or so he recalled, a bad tempered male by all accounts, and one he had avoided contact with before - and his slender wrists were bound with metal cuffs, infused with runes that prevented him from accessing magic that could free him. It was a disconcerting feeling - like he was suddenly short of a lung. The young elf was propelled forward by a rough shove between his shoulder blades and was grateful when Thymus caught his shoulder to prevent him from falling. The commanding guard scowled at the unpleasant soldier behind him, and then encouraged Serorian to walk, hand not moving from its tight grip. Serorian found himself surrounded by a tense group of elves who, by the way they held their swords towards him, expected him to at the very least resist. If it weren't for his friend's unspoken protection, and their unwillingness to provoke their commanding officer, then he did not doubt he would have met a number of 'accidents' already. The look in some of the elves' eyes was near to excitement, and he knew that they needed little excuse to cause him harm. Serorian could only imagine the dressing down Thymus would get from his superiors upon return to the Barracks. Someone would report him. They always did.

It did not take long to reach the grand hallway that housed the front doors, and guards were a disorganized presence dotted across the fine tiled floor (boasted to be the work of an infamous Great-Grand Uncle who took particular delight in Crafting the corpses of his enemies into furniture). The atmosphere was painfully tense… because there in the hallway too stood his family, paused as if frozen in place. His father – tall and strong as all Mountain Elves tended to be, with his richly purple eyes dark with fury and hair the colour of copper under a red moon unbound around his bare shoulders, having evidently forgone dressing fully in his haste to protect his family, stood with their ancestral battlesword clutched tight in his hand, raised to shoulder height in a decidedly threatening manner. Serorian's mother – that dear sweet lady whom everyone adored so - fearfully gripped the back of her eldest son's tunic – as much as in worry for the guards as for his safety. Glesni's usually pleasant features were set in a sharp-toothed snarl, normally gentle violet eyes now a tempest of ferocity as he stood to his not inconsiderable height and kept the worst of the lingering guards from her. Their sister was thickly surrounded by a group of exceedingly nervous looking elves, and justifiably so as her flame-like hair seemed all the brighter in her obvious rage, ember-like eyes immediately latching onto his relaxed form as he was lead into the midst of the room. It seemed they had all heard his words, and for the life of him Serorian could not read his family's feelings towards him. The idea that his loved ones could very well hate him at that moment at last caused him to flinch, shoulders tightening with a tinge of shame.

Aerdon growled in seeming response and took a step forward, sneering at the elves that scattered skittishly away from her. Her enraged crimson eyes flickered from his, and to the guards surrounding him, expression growing all the more angry and her voice reduced to a venomous hiss,

'Should you so much as harm a _hair_ on my little brother's head then I will hunt you down and make you wish for Hell. By my soul I swear it.'

Any nearby elves took another wary step back, and they knew as well as her family that she would uphold her threat. A large tanned hand gripped her shoulder supportively and the flame haired elf maid eased a little, but if anything the High Kingdom soldiers grew even more alarmed. The hawk-like glare they were being afforded with by her giant of a Soulmate was enough to make even high ranking demons fear for their life.

Serorian took heart from this however, and while he could not find it in him to smile – for it now began to dawn what his fate was soon to be – he nodded at his sister who only a few days ago he had teased for being overly protective of her littlest sibling. It did not seem so amusing now. Slowly the family drew together and watched as their youngest was led away. Serorian held his head high, but could not meet their eyes, and it was with a shudder of grief that he caught one last glimpse of his loved ones before the door shut them from sight. Suddenly he wondered if he'd ever see them again. The realisation that he could very well not, was the greatest blow of all.

* * *

Everyone he knew referred to it as Purgatory. A prison for those not yet judged. They were kept absent from daylight, and the passing of time could only be marked by the routines of the guards. The cell was large, but crammed with yet to be convicted Cursed, and the murmurs of others could be heard through the walls. Serorian could only wonder how many Elves here were not guilty of their supposed crime, and how many further would go on to a Prison, paying the price for others' mistakes.

The atmosphere was heavy with misery, and many a night he was awoken by the sound of some elf crying. This long wait, it was to break them down he eventually realised – the cold, dirty water, the stuffy, foul smelling air, the not-knowing and sick anticipation, the way the guards hammered on the door to wake them every hour, even the harsh scratchy robes and lack of real beds. Somehow it made the prospect of true Imprisonment all the more attractive. In low voices his fellow cellmates whispered about the tales they'd been told of the Prisons, of those who disappeared in the night, and those who went mad... but there were warm baths they said, and bunks to sleep on there, real food too. Many an elf left with these bright prospects in mind. It wouldn't take long before he learned that their promises of better things to come were simply carved by hope.

There was a near constant influx of new convicts into Purgatory to replace those sentenced, and Serorian watched helplessly as the faces around him were slowly replaced with new ones. Gradually he was approaching the head of the line. Soon it would be his day to speak. More than anything, he thought, he'd be glad to see sunlight again.

Even though he knew it was coming, he was still startled to be prodded out of the cell when the day came for him to face judgement. Well wishes and cries for luck rang out behind him in voices both familiar and unfamiliar to him. It was a bonding experience, Purgatory. One he would never forget.

The first burst of daylight made him cry out in pain, weakened by dawn though it was, and the guards were forced to physically drag him along. It was not difficult to do so – he was lighter than he had been upon entering, even if habitual exercise had kept him strong. Soon Serorian was passed over to a group of blank faced Elves, headed by a female who looked upon him with disgust, but they then gently rid him of his coarse garb, cleaning and anointing his various scratches and sores with careful hands before dressing him again in white cotton. It felt unbearably good against his skin, that simple bit of comfort enough to bring tears to his eyes. His burgundy hair was harshly brushed and braided, and that familiar silver phoenix clasp found its way into his hair again, tapping heavily against his thighs as the thick, long braid swung to its full length. Serorian's mother would be horrified that it had been allowed to grow so.

The guards returned and silently prodded him towards an ornate door – that which opened out into the hallways on the Courts. Today, as on most days Serorian knew from his father, the halls were all but empty, and their footsteps echoed against the marble floor. Caught in his thoughts Serorian was blind to the rich decorations around him and was taken by surprise when he was shoved roughly through a door which was swiftly slammed shut behind him.

Breathing out harshly in annoyance, Serorian straightened, wincing a little as his ever present metal cuffs cut into his skin anew.

'Are you alright?'

He flinched back before he could prevent himself, wide mismatched eyes darting up to meet a pair almost the same shade of purple as his father's. These however were more akin to twilight – with a bloom of soft pink around the iris that reminded Serorian of a lily. Then there was the hair – comparable to a moonbeam upon a glittering stream, ranging from the pure whiteness of snow, to the darkest of greys at the root. The creamy tone of his skin marked him as being a Dark Elf even if its paleness had been lightly dusted with a tan, yet the male reached forward, and healed the newly bleeding sore at Serorian's wrist as easily as if he were born to do so. This elf could only be Gifted. No normal Dark Elf could be so skilled at Life Magics, naturally linked to Death Magics as they were.

'Thank you.'

His thanks was met with a gentle smile, one that seemed to light the room, and it was only now that Serorian studied the kind elf properly. He stepped forward impulsively, a frown of concern crinkling his brow as he saw the not-yet healed bruise on the paler elf's cheek. Further yet, the male was dressed in rags, and chains hung heavily from slender limbs, his own metal cuffs cruelly tight around thin wrists, biting into the delicate skin hard enough to wound. It was the cruel irony of a True Healer, that they could not use their Gift upon themselves.

'Such treatment. It sickens me that they could do this to a fellow Elf.'

Serorian lightly touched the bruise on the elf's cheek, using his limited life magic to speed its healing. He'd never had the patience for the art. Now he wished he had.

The gentle elf looked delighted none the less, gently rubbing his now flawless cheek in seeming disbelief. Then he laughed, eyes bright and voice cheerful,

'I am Elwing, son of Lorcan, from the Low Kingdoms. I am in your debt.'

Serorian smiled,

'No more than I am in yours. It is an honour to meet you Elwing. I am Serorian, son of Conri. I hale from the High Kingdoms. I did not expect to meet another Gifted here, let alone one so far from home. You are from the Dark Plains are you not?'

'I am, though I have not lived there for many winters. I am a traveller – a wanderer. I have been seeking passage to the Mortal Realm, gathering stories and rumours wherever I can with the slim hope that one day I will find my way to my Intended.'

Oblivious to his acquaintance's sudden breathlessness – one did not talk about being Cursed, let alone their mortal Intended, in such a casual manner and to do so was almost insane – Elwing continued none the less, smiling absently,

'It is why I am here today. I did not suffer through Purgatory – though only the guards could tell you why this is so. I understand they felt the need to convict me with haste. I fear my wilful determination to disobey the law warrants a death penalty. I am glad though – I do believe their fear means that I was close to finding a way.'

The dual-eyed elf sat heavily, mind made chaotic with possibility. Yet some measure of disbelief broke free from his turmoil,

'You speak of your Intended so casually.'

Elwing drew himself up with a defiant, somewhat cheeky glint in his eye,

'My Beloved is a man. A beautiful, damaged mortal man and I love him. I love him with all my soul. I dream of him every night, I can feel his strength fortifying mine even now. What else could I feel but pride? I could speak of him until my throat was bloody.'

'I… I admit… I also feel little need for shame. Propriety and need for secrecy has restrained me, but I love my Intended also. It brings me joy to hear another speak so.'

'Then I am glad for it. My unashamed heart has taught my tongue lack of shame – it has sealed my fate, yet I cannot help myself. There is a freedom in that which is somehow worth more to me than life, or sunshine, or the feel of the road beneath my feet.'

'I understand.'

Affection for this shameless elf was swift to form, and it could only grow later as that same delight born of the freedom to speak of his soulmate had Elwing laugh for joy even as he was condemned to death. It was a short trial. Tears of happiness and grief glistened on lightly tanned cheeks, and the Healer all but grinned in defiant exhilaration as he declared in his defence,

'My soul is my own. My love is my own. This body you may keep or burn or destroy and I will keep on loving, my soul will keep on reaching. I will not be ashamed to love a man.'

The court roared its fury at these treasonous words, and Elwing continued to laugh even as he was forcefully removed from the court. Serorian felt sick at the prospect of the treatment that dear elf would now be afforded with. His own trial was longer, but passed in a blur, evidence given by the Skywalkers and no one else. The fact that his supposed betrayal could be read in the stars was damning enough, worse still was the fierce pride that had been stoked into an inferno by his newest friend. Though he was not permitted to turn and look, he knew the benches were full of an audience – and he was in tune enough to recognize the near silent whistle that alerted him to the presence of his oldest and dearest friend, no doubt willing him to lie when asked to speak his defence, but he could not. He would lie no longer.

'I have known all my life that my soulmate was to be mortal, though he only came into being on the night of my arrest. I have long thought the condemnation of the so-called Cursed to be blasphemous in the extreme. If you truly believed that Mother Earth wilfully created all Elves, then you would concede that she created me this way. The Gods have intended from the first that I should love a mortal man and I do not feel it is your place to try to deny me that destiny. I will love him no matter what you do or say - your bigoted opinion means nothing. Prison will not change that, and nor will death.'

Retribution was swift, and Serorian did not resist as he too was forcefully removed from the Court. Shouts of anger, and the roar of his sentencing rang in his ears, but he could not help but smile. It had felt good to finally speak his piece. Prison was always going to be the outcome – his family was too highly ranked for anything else. For now however, it was back to that pristine white room, and then to Purgatory. His fine white robe was stripped from him, and the clothing that had been taken from him all those months ago was thrust into his arms. It would not do to waste resources on a criminal after all. Quickly he dressed and was marched away once more. This time the guards were not so kind, and more than one urge to speed up was issued by way of a bruising shove, some of which would have seen him fall or meet a wall if it weren't for the warrior's reflexes integrated into him almost from birth.

The small cell was overheated and stuffy with too many elves, laying or sitting, mostly on top of one another, any form of modesty or propriety that had survived Purgatory quickly dismissed in favour of comfort. It was with a glad heart that Serorian recognized many of the faces that turned up at his entrance, and as the door thudded shut behind him, he greeted the many friends he had made over the past few months. It was a bitter sweet moment. Those around him would too be making the journey to a prison.

Mismatched eyes scanned the room, and quickly found a striking patch of white within the gloom. Elwing. The Healer was laid prone upon the ground, uncomfortably positioned as if he had simply dropped in place. No doubt they had sent him here to await his execution. Quickly Serorian approached and knelt, carefully rearranging those sprawled limbs until the elf was more comfortably settled. He was a new face among old acquaintances – no doubt the other convicts thought him some sort of spy and had left him well alone as a consequence. The guards, it seemed, had no such reservations, and again bruises littered that pale, delicate face, and blood stained that white hair crimson. Brow screwed up in concentration, Serorian strived to heal the gentle elf some, relieved that his clumsy attempts were not entirely in vain as those purple eyes like twilight fluttered open. Pained though it was, Elwing smiled up at him in recognition,

'It appears I am in your debt again.'

'You owe me nothing dear elf, except that which you would freely give. I thank you for giving me heart to speak my mind earlier; it has done me good to speak so openly of my love. Can you sit?'

'I think so.'

The Dark Elf eased himself upright, wincing occasionally at the sting of a wound. Serorian steadied him carefully, wary of causing him further pain. Dark eyes scanned the room curiously, then widened with innocent concern. That baleful gaze was turned to Serorian,

'Please, help me rise?'

Together they gained their feet, and toured the room, stopping every now and again so that Elwing could ease some ailment or pain. Where the gentle elf's manner did not convince others of his sincerity, Serorian's familiarity did, and it wasn't long until those in the room had fallen under Elwing's spell. That he would strive to heal those around him, even as blood stained his hair, and bruises bloomed visibly on skin through the tears and holes in his clothing endeared him to others. Such defiant energy could not last of course, and even as the Healer spoke brightly and happily of the love waiting for him only a world away, the life magics took their toll on his weary, battered body until he swooned under the force of his own exhaustion.

Gently Serorian lay the elf down, and settled beside him. Those surrounding them gathered close, sharing body heat the only thanks they could give. Together they slept.

It was well into the night when Serorian was shaken awake. A figure stood over him, smelling of fresh air and metal, a gloved hand gesturing for the elf to remain quiet even as it spoke,

'Arundel sends his regards.'

Serorian smiled. It seemed that old, true friend of his loved him still,

'I assume I am to personally deliver my own?'

'That is the idea, yes. Come. We must be swift.'

Those around them slept on – some spell or magics at work to keep them so no doubt, and Serorian stood, eager to leave this hellish cell behind. A blur of white caught his eyes however, and he turned his gaze downwards, freezing as some vision came upon him of that dear elf Elwing, his delicate skin mottled in death, flayed and ruined, his hair torn from his skull as if in a rage and rags mere scraps around him. It stopped Serorian in place, and the envoy Arundel had sent turned questioningly as he paused,

'What is it?'

Silently Serorian knelt, having made his decision quickly, and removed from around his neck an amulet – one that no-one but he could remove – and looped it gently around Elwing's neck.

'Do you have some paper I can use?'

Curiously, the elf handed him a scrap, watching wonderingly as the dual-eyed elf focused upon it, burning words into it with sheer intent. It only took a second, and as the scent of smoke wafted into the room, Serorian rose and handed the scrap back,

'Give that to Arundel with my apologies. At heart I am ever that same boy who saved another from a mountain wolf. I will not go. You must take Elwing in my place.'

'My orders –'

'Have been superseded. My name has not been stripped from me yet, and I outrank him still, consider it an order from a superior if you must, but I will not leave. Elwing must. He will die if he remains.'

The envoy sighed,

'He is going to fly into a rage, and it is I who will feel the full brunt of it. It is not my place to force you however. I will do as you wish.'

Elwing was easily lifted, and the envoy left quietly, seeming to disappear into a beam of moonlight which filtered through the tiny windows. A Light Elf. Arundel had friends from the most exotic of places. Absently Serorian wondered what desert the envoy haled from, and fell asleep again with that thought firmly in mind. His choice bothered him not, and it had not been a difficult decision – to save that one gentle soul was as simple a choice as breathing, no matter what fate he had condemned himself to. Despite all attempts he could not however escape the direction of his thoughts, and his dreams that night were haunted with images of his own demise.

In the morning Elwing's disappearance would be noticed, and Serorian along with his cellmates would be punished – an ordeal they bore with a sort of fierce pride – later to be reduced to a mere number in a register, and then the long march to their Prisons would begin. For some that prison would be their grave as many of them so feared, some even fated to become a shallow grave beside the long road they were to march along - but it would not be so for him. The beginnings of a plan had begun to form, seeded hours before by the very elf whose life Serorian had just saved, and over the years it would grow and mature into something this elf could sustain himself upon. For now though Serorian slept and dreamt of death, soothed only just by that ever growing joyous soul that resided a world away.

* * *

**R&R if you want.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, its works and all its characters belong to the ever wonderful J.K. Rowling. Serorian, his kin and all those that hunt him are mine. **

**Thank you once again for all reviews, follows and viewings. This chapter is a bit longer (~3000 words longer!) than usual to make up for the extra wait. Thank you for being so patient!**

**WARNING: This is a slash fic. I said so in the summary. Don't like it? Don't read it. Also, Dumbledore bashing. I don't know where it came from - this chapter seemed to have a life of its own.**

**Note: Some of you seem worried that the Serorian chapters might begin to make up most of the story. Don't worry – there'll only be ~ 3 chapters like that (one already gone). Back to Harry's world for now!**

* * *

The morning came once again with the scent of fresh air permeating the room, and Harry was drowsily surprised to find Serorian sound asleep by his side having evidently crept in at some ungodly hour. The elf had been absent for a while now, a burning absence in the teen's life even after only a few days of knowing each other – in fact he'd be half inclined to believe that he'd dreamt the whole thing if it weren't for that bond steadily feeding him foreign feelings, tinged with a growing fatigue that made worry gnaw at Harry's gut. There were the brief visits in the dead of the night to soothe his anxiety with admissions of love, but when morning arrived the memories of them merely lingered like half-remembered dreams, leaving him happy but disquieted. But the elf was here now – whole and apparently well, if tired, smelling as ever of damp woodland and sweet fruit. The wizard breathed in deeply and sighed out in content feeling well rested and incredibly comfortable, taking the opportunity to study the beautiful being by his side, only considering at that moment that he'd never seen the elf truly relaxed before. He frowned at that thought, but couldn't help a swell of affection as he took in the way Serorian curled protectively around him, lying on his front, one arm securely around Harry's waist, and the other flopping over the other side of the bed – presumably grasping the hilt of that sword that he never seemed to be without. He was warm, and Harry snuggled deeper into his hold feeling unaccustomedly peaceful.

A week ago he'd been boiling over with grief, anger and frustration – unable to adequately express how he was feeling to the point that he'd begun to snap at everyone, feeling increasingly isolated and miserable every time he did. But the heavy weight that life had dumped unceremoniously upon his unprepared shoulders had lifted the very moment he'd set eyes on Serorian. He truly wasn't alone any more. They shared the burden of each other's troubles without guilt or recrimination, and could express more with one passing thought than the wizard would ever be able to convey in a thousand words. Something within himself, that he hadn't even been aware of being broken, had healed.

More awake now, Harry drew back a little to study that beautiful face again, idly tracing bed-warmed fingers over the crescent moon scar in a mixture of disapproval and love. It really did nothing but enhance Serorian's other-worldly looks. The elf sighed drowsily, muttering something in a musical language Harry didn't recognise, and then shifted to draw the wizard closer to him before settling down into sleep once again. Burgundy hair slipped further down that angular cheek allowing a glint of a crystal to catch Harry's attention, and he spent the next few minutes curiously playing with the many charms that adorned the elf's exposed ear. A few were uncut precious gems – studs of ruby, sapphire and emerald linked by a delicate silver chain to a freely hanging deeply purple piece of amethyst, then a copper-toned chunk of ore the wizard couldn't name forming a loop around the edge of that delicate ear, a small pearl embedded into it, beside it an unusual jagged fang on the end of a silver chain and then a strange white crystal bound with brass-hued wire. Finally there was a single small feather – deep silver edging into maroon. Harry could only wonder what they were for, or why the elf had them.

Gentle fingers wrapped around his wrist, caressing the tendons, before removing Harry's touch and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. The startled wizard's gaze darted from the charms and to now wide open mismatching eyes, crinkled into a smile.

'Good morning Beloved.'

'Sorry, I… I didn't mean to wake you. I was just curious.'

Serorian's smiled wider, pressing the hand he still held against his neck, warming the chilled fingers,

'Apologize not – I woke upon my own accord. Also, it would be most hypocritical of me to admonish another for indulging their curiosity. There is a reason why my Earth form is a feline after all.'

Harry laughed quietly, pressing further into the warm hold so that the elf ended up partially draped over his side, their faces settling close enough that they could breathe each other's air. The wizard hummed thoughtfully, taking in the slight bruising beneath his soulmate's eyes, and the dull ache of fatigue still lingering on the other side of the bond.

'I was worried. I could feel how tired you were getting.'

Serorian sighed, eyes fluttering shut in regret,

'I know and I'm sorry. The gateway I entered into this realm by was barely functional – the need to stabilize it was urgent, and the longer I waited to do so, the greater the chance that it would collapse, or that my attempts would be disrupted by an incoming party of Imperial Guards. It could not wait, and I could not rest until I had finished my task. There is too much at stake.'

'Will you have need of it?'

Sensing the growing unease his Intended was feeling, Serorian was quick to deny it, grip tightening around Harry's waist,

'Not personally, no. I would not leave you Beloved, and certainly not without discussing it with you first. It has simply always been my intention that, if by some miracle I discovered safe passage into this realm, I would find some way to contact those Cursed I know of, and give them the chance to find happiness such as I have.'

'How?'

The elf shrugged, brow crinkling into a frown,

'I do not know. I scarcely dared think beyond my escape into this realm before. Now that I am here, I find myself at a loss. I must think on it more.'

They were quiet for a long while after that, Harry watching as the elf sunk closer and closer to the edge of sleep. Serorian looked up suddenly however, sleepy gaze fixing itself to the door, startling Harry with his alertness even when so tired,

'Someone approaches.'

Not bothering to move the elf quickly transformed into a cat, mewling slightly in displeasure at the loss of contact, and quickly remedied it by crawling closer and curling up in the nook of Harry's neck. A minute or two later there was a knock on the door,

'Breakfast is ready Harry, dear. Dumbedore wants to speak to you too.'

'I'll be down in a few Mrs Weasley!'

Footsteps disappeared down the hallway, and Harry groaned in annoyance, thumping his pillow irritably,

'Urgh, great. He's the last person I want to see right now.'

Sero purred reassuringly into his neck then rose from his comfortable spot to stretch in attempt to wake properly. Having remained in a magically induced trance for the last few nights without rest, sleep or sustenance he was left feeling drained in more way than one. Fortunately, just being around Harry helped – they were bonded enough that the Wizard's magic could supplement his somewhat, speeding up his recuperation rate significantly.

The feline waited patiently as the teenager dressed, politely averting his eyes, and then jumped up to his regular spot on Harry's shoulder when he turned to leave. The dining room was loud with conversation when they arrived; Dumbledore sat bright eyed at the head of the table, cup of tea in hand as he delightedly watched the family interact. Remus was absent today, meeting with his various sources in the hope of gaining information for the Order. Harry slipped in unnoticed, and quietly took his seat,

'Hungry Sero?'

The elf mewled pathetically in response, drawing a laugh from the young wizard, then more so when the cat jumped into his lap and fixed him with adorably wide pleading eyes. Good humour shook its way down their bond, and Harry grinned, reaching for the fruit at the centre of the table,

'Okay, okay. I get it, you're very hungry. What do you want this time? More mango?'

An eager feeling transmitted down the bond,

'Mango it is. Anything else?'

Sero seemed to stare at him in consideration for a second, then meowed, following which what only could be described as a bubble slid across their bond. Curiously Harry poked at it mentally, startled to find an image forming abruptly in his mind,

'Uh. Melon and strawberries?'

An excited feeling, followed by pride and affirmation. Somehow they'd just communicated via their bond. Something to definitely ask Serorian about the next time he had the correct vocal cords.

Quietly Harry went about cutting up his soulmate's breakfast into bite sized chunks, only becoming aware of the blue gaze fixated onto them when he reached to finally pour himself some tea after balancing the plateful of fruit on his lap for Sero to consume.

'Who is your new friend Harry?'

'Sero.'

'I see.'

The elderly gentleman watched the pair for a long while, not missing the way they easily interacted, Harry reaching for the empty plate and removing it without even needing to look to see if the cat was done, and Sero settling easily on the young wizard's lap to watch those around them with intelligent eyes – not even attempting to climb onto the table, or to snatch additional food from the plate just centimetres away from him.

'He's an unusual looking cat. Where exactly did you purchase him, my boy?'

'I didn't. We found each other.'

Dumbledore frowned at the less than enlightening answer, eying the feline suspiciously, and raising an eyebrow when it returned his gaze with a certain degree of hostility.

'Hmmm… might I suggest that I take him to Hagrid? I'm sure you'd want to know Sero was in full health, and perhaps learn of his species – it could be dangerous to take him into a school full of raucous children without knowing how he is likely to react.'

Harry frowned, immediately suspicious, feeling the same emotion emanating from the bond along with dislike and slight offense.

'That's alright, sir. Sero is perfectly healthy, and he'd never attack anyone without just cause – especially a child.'

'Harry, my boy, you cannot know that. He could hurt you…'

The teenager pushed back his chair abruptly, not needing to say anything for Sero to jump up onto his shoulder before he stood and abandoned his breakfast, appetite suddenly gone.

'I am not your boy.'

Hermione hissed an admonishment as he passed, but he didn't stop until he left the room, ignoring the sudden silence and heavy weight of eyes upon his retreating form. The door clicked shut behind him and he sighed, leaning against the wall as the room broke into loud chatter behind him. Serorian hissed quietly on his shoulder, attention focused on the gossiping going on from within the room, easily audible to his sensitive ears.

'Don't worry about it Sero. It's no more than I expect.'

The feline grumbled in a manner than was almost human sounding, causing the wizard to smile a little. Affectionately he reached up and scratched the cat's neck, smile widening at the resulting purr.

'I shouldn't have lost my temper. I just… I can't stand it y'know? I look at him, and all I want to do is hex him. How am I meant to smile and pretend the thought had never occurred to me?'

Sero leapt gracefully from his shoulder in seeming response, winking out of existence. Harry blinked in confusion, and then gasped when invisible arms tugged him away from the wall and into a hug.

'You aren't Beloved.'

An invisible pair of lips pressed against his gently for a moment,

'If you live your life constantly trying to avoid causing hurt or confrontation, then you are not living for yourself. If you are angry, say that you are angry; if you're sad, say that you're sad; if someone displeases you, tell them so. Dumbledore is indeed old and powerful for a wizard, but that does not mean that he is always right, or that he cannot be asked to account for his actions.'

'Everyone else looks up to him though! How can I say what I want to say when everyone will be angry on his behalf – they'll all take his side, and I'll feel like the bad guy, and then my friends will treat me like crap.'

Serorian sighed,

'Harry, you are a wizard, and bonded to an elf, you are likely to live a very long time because of it – do you truly suppose that you will only ever have those two friends, or that their friendship will be the only ones of value in your life? If they cannot move beyond their blind admiration of an old man to see how you have been hurt and betrayed, then perhaps some time stewing in their own misconceptions is what they need. You are in the right. Believe that, and let it strengthen you when others would seek to see your convictions crumble.'

Harry bit his lip, knowing that his soulmate was right, yet still a part of him – a part he could objectively understand to be that same part that had desperately sought friendship throughout a lonely childhood – baulked at the idea of standing up to his friends, possibly resulting in the breakup of their friendship. Hermione practically worshipped authority – especially in the form of Dumbledore, and Ron had been raised to be in awe of the man. There was little chance it could end well. But was this what Dumbledore had planned all along? That he would be so affected by his childhood that he could never risk the wrath of those that loved Dumbledore, by speaking against him? A spark of indignant rebellion ignited.

'You're right. I can't let people walk all over me forever. I won't let them anymore.'

The teenager sighed, blindly winding his arms around the elf's neck,

'Do you think Remus will be disappointed in me?'

Serorian huffed in amusement at such an absurd question,

'The werewolf loves you unconditionally, and I do not doubt he will support your choice regardless of what that choice is.'

There was silence for a moment, and then Harry stepped out of the affectionate embrace with a sigh,

'We'd better move before someone comes out and sees me hugging air. They'll be finishing breakfast soon. Are you… are you staying with me today?

A large slender hand pressed against the small of his back, guiding him into walking,

'I am with you always, Beloved, but yes – I shall remain by your side today.'

'Good.'

Together, by unspoken consensus, they began the trek to the Black Library, ignorant to the fact that at that very moment a fate-altering floo call was taking place. As they settled in the library, Serorian once again in cat form contently curled up on his soulmate's lap, a darkly dressed man - one tainted by hatred and subterfuge - leant back from his fireplace with an irritated snarl and gathered his few personal effects hastily before leaving his drab home. Moments later, not long after he disappeared with a quiet 'pop', two women approached his battered front door and knocked upon it to no avail. A string of fate unravelled, and another took its place.

* * *

Harry was deep into a book about Defensive Charms when Dumbledore peered smilingly round the door, only aware of the initial intrusion due to Serorian's sudden tensing, a feeling of dislike transmitting clearly down the bond.

'Ah Harry, there you are. Hard at work I see! It's wonderful to see that you're taking your role seriously.'

Green eyed blinked upwards to fix the Headmaster with a blank stare, watching as the old man ambled into the room and took a seat opposite the sofa with a heavy sigh,

'Yes well, a weapon is no good if it dies within the first few minutes of battle.'

Dumbledore winced a little at the boy's emotionless tone, feeling pensive and weary as he took in those dark green eyes looking at him, and seeing far too much resemblance to another pair of green eyes that had regarded him in much the same manner a good 50 years ago.

'Surely you must know that I see you as more than a weapon, my boy.'

'All I know is that I've been a good little puppet for too long, and I finally noticed the strings. What do you want?'

'Harry, my boy…'

The gaze flashed, and the elder wizard felt a stirring of alarm in his gut, tactfully getting to the point before the teenager's volatile temper snapped,

'… I need your assistance in an important manner. Tomorrow evening I should think - if you are amenable.'

That sharp green gaze narrowed, but the teen nodded in acquiescence,

'Is that all?'

'One last thing, I admit I have been remiss in how I have dealt with the matter of the prophecy…'

Something odd passed through the Potter heir's eyes, and the casually bored cat on his knee twitched slightly. Dumbledore frowned thoughtfully, but continued,

'…but now you know, and while I'm sure you are doing all you can to prepare, I would like to begin some private lessons with you. I must stress how important these will be. They'll be instrumental in your defeat of Voldemort.'

'When?'

'During term time, I'll contact you by owl.'

'Okay. Are we done?'

Dumbledore hesitated, eyes flickering to that unusual cat once again, disconcerted to find it staring at him with blatant suspicion.

'For now, yes. I would like to speak to you again later – preferably after the meeting tonight.'

Harry nodded once, then turned pointedly back to his book, not uttering a word as the old wizard rose with a sigh,

'I am sorry, my boy, for whatever I have done to reduce our relationship to this. I only hope once you're older you can understand why I have done things this way, and forgive me the hurt it has caused you.'

Dumbledore eyed the unmoved boy sadly, and then left. The door closed with a quiet click, and immediately Harry sagged in place, letting out the breath he'd been holding in a rush,

'Dear Merlin that was horrible.'

Sero purred in his lap, mismatched eyes wide with concern, bond thrumming soothingly.

'I know, I know, he deserves it. Doesn't make it any more fun… and he was as thoroughly uninformative as usual! I wonder what he wants…'

Harry glanced down at his elf, receiving the distinct feeling that he was waiting for something, and caught the quick glance towards the door. Immediately he frowned and went to comment, but was halted as Serorian quickly transformed, not bothering to move from where he was half draped over the teenager, and covered Harry's mouth with his hand, attention still on the door.

A minute ticked by in silence, and Serorian withdrew his hand, indicating for the wizard to remain quiet, and then lay down fully resting his head on his Intended's stomach. Arching an eyebrow Harry complied and turned back to his book, using his free hand to card his fingers through the elf's incredibly soft hair, and grinning when Sero began to purr quietly.

The wizard quickly became absorbed in the text again, and was actually nearing the end of it when Serorian finally shifted and looked up at him sleepy eyed,

'We can speak now.'

Harry set down his book, having been waiting impatiently for this, and settled down further, running his hand through the elf's hair again as he focused his attention onto him,

'Why couldn't we earlier?'

'The old man cast some sort of monitoring charm on the door. I could have dissipated it, but that would have been suspicious, so instead I thought it best for it to naturally fade.'

'Why the hell would he do that?'

'He suspects I may not be a mere cat, or he believes you are hiding something from him.'

'That's a bit rich coming from him.'

The elf hummed, nuzzling into his Beloved's stomach again, absorbing the peace and comfort with a greedy heart,

'It is. Even now he hides his ailment.'

The fingers so easily coaxing him into a blissful state paused at this,

'Ailment?'

'Yes, magically induced. There is no barrier that my all-seeing eye cannot penetrate, and though he disguises it well with a glamour, I can see the blackened, withered flesh of his arm. There is powerful death magic at work. I am not adept enough to be able to identify the curse, but even I can see that it is linked to the ring that even now he wears.'

'Death magic?'

Noting the growing alarm in his soulmate's voice and heart, the elf half sat up to meet that green gaze,

'Yes, Beloved. A much misunderstood branch of magic. It was a significant point of contention between my kind and yours. You must understand, despite what is taught, there is no such thing as 'dark magic' or 'light magic' – there is only magic and the will to use it. Death magic is not inherently evil – it is a natural aspect of existence – without it we could not be a full and complete society. It is the magic of time and rebirth - used to communicate with the dead, to solve crimes, interact with the shadow realm and in healing rituals.'

'Can… can you use it?'

'Any elf may use Death Magic, though Dark Elves will always be more naturally adept. Without it I could not shadow walk.'

'So it isn't used to kill?'

'It can be. But then so can all magics.'

'But the death magic on Dumbledore's arm is killing him?'

'Yes, very slowly. It is a powerful curse, they are fortunate to have been able to lessen its hold.'

'Can it be cured?'

'I know not, Beloved, it is beyond my skill.'

Harry absorbed this, upset despite how much he currently loathed the old wizard. He'd lost too many people in his life to wish death upon anyone.

'I know someone who may be able to help.'

The teenager looked sharply at his soulmate, immediately thinking of that gateway and the cruel society living on the other side of it,

'Another elf? It's too dangerous!'

Serorian's lip twitched in aborted humour,

'I have survived the worst kind of danger – that tainted by hopelessness. Now I have you, I will never be so endangered again. Fear not, the elf I speak of is a Cursed. I speak of Elwing. His skill as a Healer and talents as a Dark Elf endear him to such tasks. He is one of many I intend to free from the misery of the Immortal Realm, so he shall be coming here regardless. Dumbledore's curse is slow. We have time.'

'Have you even thought of a way to get the other Cursed here yet?'

Serorian's brow crinkled, and he exhaled sharply in frustration,

'I have not. It will come to me.'

Harry couldn't help but smile at the grumpy expression on such a beautiful face, and tugged at the elf to encourage him to lie down again. The elf did so, moving further up the wizard's body so that his head rested on a lithe shoulder, making a sound of content as Harry pressed a kiss into his hair and picked up his book again.

'You think then, and try not to fall asleep – I'm relying on your ears as an early warning system.'

Serorian grumbled something intelligible into his neck, and then sighed helplessly in relaxation,

'I love you.'

Harry smiled as he flipped open his Defense book, pressing another kiss to that head of burgundy hair, and then started reading again from the beginning.

* * *

The day passed quickly and quietly – Hermione and Ron were seemingly avoiding him for fear of meeting the sharp edge of his infamous temper, Harry worked through book after book in his increasing need for defensive knowledge and his elf lay draped over him, lingering on the edge of sleep but ever willing to awaken further to answer the occasional question. A few minutes had been spent discussing how Sero had transferred the mental picture that morning, a simple matter of purposely pushing a thought towards the bond, and then mastering the ability for future use. Lunch had been delivered by Remus, who had returned from whatever back-alley hole he'd been using to meet with his sources, along with the unwelcome news that Snape had also arrived at Grimmauld Place and was currently spreading the joys of his ill-temper to the Weasley clan.

As expected the Order of the Phoenix meeting was conducted without Harry, though Remus promised to tell him of anything important that came up, and then the many occupants of the house were called for dinner. Harry ate quickly, avoiding the curious eyes of those at the dinner table, and settled in the sitting room afterwards, feeling somewhat nervous as he waited for Dumbledore. Generally, if they had something to discuss, it was something important, bad, or both.

The reason for the private meeting became obvious as soon as the old wizard entered the room… with Snape in tow. Harry all but snarled shooting out of his chair and scooting behind it for fear that he'd attack the scowling man. It was irrational, but he blamed Snape for Sirius' death, at least in part. Added on to an already unhealthy amount of dislike, it was practically a recipe for homicide.

'What the hell is he doing here?'

'My boy –'

'I have told you before; _I am not_ _your boy._'

The bond was thrumming with emotion, Harry's fear and hatred warring with Serorian's confusion and concern. Not knowing how else to explain, the teenager directed his memories of the unpleasant man and their 'lessons' together towards his elf, shaking with the effort of remaining calm.

'Harry, I called Severus here because I'm concerned. With Voldemort stronger than ever it is important that we protect your mind as much as possible. We wouldn't want you to be so easily manipulated again.'

Harry flinched, the words like a physical blow as he was reminded of the failure that had cost him the life of his beloved godfather. Serorian hissed fiercely, fur rising in indignation as he bared his teeth at the solemn eyed Headmaster. Behind him, Snape smirked unpleasantly. Feeling as if he'd swallowed glass, the teenager gripped the back of his chair, nails digging into the soft cushioning,

'Hypocrite.'

Dumbledore had the nerve to look stunned at the accusation, though Serorian noted with a keen eye, Snape did not. In fact he looked rather… pleasantly surprised?

'Hypocrite, Harry? I assure you, I am no such thing.'

Harry laughed humourlessly,

'Did you really think I'd remain like my naïve 11 year old self forever? That I'd never overcome the _abuse_ you let my so-called family subject me to? That I'd never look past the rhetoric you've repeatedly spouted at me about having my best interests at heart? I may not be the brightest, or the most powerful, or the most worldly, but even I can see your manipulations. How does it feel, knowing that you resort to the same tactics as Voldemort?'

Blue eyes that so often sparkled with kindness, real or not, darkened at the comparison. Harry spoke quickly, reckless fury fuelling his words, disregarding the anger they might provoke,

'I am not going to learn Occlumency. Not from you, not from Snape, not from anyone you have control over. For all I know, you've been opening my mind to intrusion, not working towards its protection! I don't know what your true intentions are, but I'm sure as hell not going to let you use me.'

So caught up was he in the headiness of actually speaking his mind, that he missed the movement that brought Dumbledore's wand to hand. He could not however miss the firmly spoken spell if he had tried, and cried out in surprise as a beam of blue light hit him.

'_Legilimens!_'

There was a breathless silence and Harry waited, eyes closed, for the painful intrusion of his mind to commence. A deep, furious growl sounded instead however, deadly and loud in the quiet room and green eyes blinked open. Confusion and fear warred on Dumbledore's face as he stared at the cat at Harry's feet. A cat that was, oddly enough, no longer a mere cat. The teenager gasped at the feline stood tensed before him, hackles raised – at least three times bigger than usual, plum coloured fur struck through with black, and large sinuous muscles obvious beneath rippling skin as the feline shifted protectively. Mismatching eyes were dark with fury, large wickedly sharp teeth fixed in a snarl as the cat-turned-panther stared down the Headmaster.

The full weight of what just happened struck Harry, and he brought his wand to his hand instinctively, throwing a glance to the Potions Master who he half expected to be defending the Headmaster. Instead the teenager was forced to do a double take. Snape indeed had is wand out, but it wasn't pointed at the son of his childhood bully, it was pointed at Dumbledore, his sallow features tight with anger.

'Harry-'

The teenager hissed at the old man, snake-like for a moment, startling the other wizards,

'You have no right to refer to me with such familiarity after what you just did.'

'I only did it to –'

'What, to prove to me that I'm weak? That you're stronger than me? To find out my secrets? You know, where I come from, intruding into someone's body without permission is called rape. I don't see how intruding into someone's mind is any better.'

Dumbledore didn't seem to know how to respond to this, and shifted his grip on his wand, freezing again when Sero growled.

'I know you've been keeping secrets from me Mr Potter. I know that cat is no ordinary cat. I know you could not have learned to defend your mind so completely without help. I will find out eventually.'

Harry shrugged, expression blank,

'Maybe, but it won't be from me. Come on Sero, I doubt senile old men taste very nice.'

Recklessly the teenager turned his back on the Headmaster. Snape moved from where he blocked the door without a word, and even nodded almost unperceivably in respect as Harry passed by. Filing that reaction away for later consideration Harry left, waiting for Sero just outside the door which shut behind them. Feigning a calm he didn't really feel the shaking teen made his way to his room, the large feline pressed against his thigh, not surprised to find Remus waiting patiently for him in an armchair.

The werewolf knew instantly that something was wrong and rose from his seat in alarm, and then flinched as Sero entered in all his panther-like glory,

'Hells bells, Sero?'

The elf returned to his natural form quickly, ignoring the werewolf as Harry slid down the wall into a sitting position, pressing his palms against his eyes as he tried to absorb what had just happened. Not entirely unshaken himself, Serorian joined his Intended on the floor, tentatively placing a hand on the teen's leg. He smiled humourlessly as Harry immediately shifted forward, placing himself in the gap between the elf's crossed legs, and wrapping his own around slim hips. Trembling arms wound round the elf's waist, and a pale face pressed against his neck. With no thought at all except those to comfort his soulmate Serorian pressed the mortal closer, taking heart himself at the mere proximity.

For a short while they breathed each other in, purposely not thinking beyond the feel of the close embrace, and then Harry sighed, pulling back slightly.

'Sorry… I just…'

'There is no need for apology, Beloved. I feel your betrayal as keenly as if it were my own.'

'Harry… please, tell me what's going on.'

Green eyes flickered immediately to the werewolf, growing wide in concern at his suddenly pale Godfather's pained expression, a scarred hand resting subconsciously over his heart. Sero immediately loosened his hold, letting the teenager scramble to his feet to encourage the sickly man to lie down on the bed. Once achieved, Harry curled up beside the amber eyed man, snuggling up to him and smiling at his soulmate as the elf did the same. Quietly they explained what had happened, Serorian easily preventing the werewolf from rising in his fury at the Headmaster's actions. Harry was quick to distract him with the one thing he knew his Godfather couldn't resist – information,

'There's just one thing I want to know – no, two. How did I block Dumbledore, and how did you change into a big cat? Is that another elemental form of yours?'

Remus's eyes were still pure amber in anger, but even he looked intrigued at this. Serorian smiled mischievously, more than willing to distract them both from earlier events,

'I did not mention because I did not think it necessary, but elves are strong and orderly of mind – we would go mad otherwise with the sheer quantity of knowledge we accumulate over many centuries, and there are many evils in the Immortal Realm that would destroy an elf if they did not shield their mind. As your soulmate I naturally seek to protect you from whatever danger may befall you, and as such the defences around my mind extend to yours.'

Harry hummed in consideration, not having thought to link his recent lack of nightmares and visions to his bond with Serorian.

'And that big cat thing?'

'That is the full measure of my Earth form. As a part Sea Elf hybrid I have unusual control over my shape-shifting ability. I initially decided to restrain my transformation to that of an ordinary sized cat for everyday use, so to avoid suspicion or alarm, however in my need to protect you I felt a more… obvious threat than a hissing housecat would be more effective.'

Harry laughed lightly, not quite able to eliminate the hollow ring from his tone,

'I think you made the right choice; I've never seen Dumbledore look scared before.'

'He has reason to be.'

'I second that… and you say Severus was in the room too? He can't have taken the threat to Lily's child very kindly.'

Harry shifted to better view his Godfather, brow furrowed,

'He… he raised his wand against Dumbledore. I didn't really believe you about him until then… and he nodded at me when I left the room. I think that's the most civil he's ever been!'

'I told you didn't I? You may look like James, but you've got Lily's fire – it's as obvious to him as it is to me, if not more so. I have no doubt that he's fond of you, no matter how much he hides it.'

'I must agree with Remus, Beloved, had I not seen it for myself I would not have believed from your memories that it was so. As you spoke your mind, Snape was surprised, but pleasantly so – as if he had been waiting for you to defend yourself but had almost given up hope of it. It is also clear to me that he has a very strong mind and even stronger control over his heart – I could not sense anything from him. I believe you must consider the idea that he has never acted as his true self around you.'

'He probably can't – too risky. If someone saw him being nice to Harry Potter and reported it to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named he'd be dead within a fortnight.'

Harry bit his lip thoughtfully, never having really considered how difficult it must be to spy on the Dark Lord, nor how it must control Snape's life. Absently he wondered how many lives the potion's master lived – was it possible for any sane person to play three separate roles for so long? Serorian eyed his Beloved briefly, knowing that the teenager needed time to think, and turned instead to the werewolf who was grimacing at some phantom pain.

'Are you well?'

Remus nodded absently, stretching out his arm to ease some ache,

'The sting of transformation never quite seems to leave. I should probably go to bed – it's getting late and I need to be up early.'

'You are in bed are you not?'

The werewolf blinked, amber eyes uncertain,

'This is Harry's bed?'

'And you are his family. Tell me truthfully – would a night in close proximity to your pack not ease some of your pain?'

'Pain? I'm fine - my last transformation was 2 weeks ago.'

'I do not speak of physical pain, though I have no doubt that it feels like such. You are heartsick Remus.'

The kindly werewolf half sat up, blindsided by this casual statement,

'How… how could you know that?'

A firm hand to his chest forced him to lie down again,

'I can sense it. You are greatly weakened – were you not so sick at heart, I would not be able to overpower you so easily.'

'You can sense it?'

Guilt was beginning to grown in those amber eyes, and Serorian was quick to dispel it,

'I do not feel any echo of your pain, have no fear. Merely it is something I acknowledge – it lingers in my senses much as scent, or sound, or sensation might. Sleep now my friend, I will watch over you and your Cub.'

'You need sleep too, Sero.'

'I will get my rest when the Long Sleep overcomes me.'

Remus' brow crinkled at this, even as he compliantly waved his wand to transform his clothes into pyjamas. Beside him Harry rose to perform his night adulations and to change.

'It that your elf-like way of saying 'I'll sleep when I'm dead'?'

Serorian's lips quirked,

'I believe so, yes.'

'Don't let Harry know that – if he's anything like Lily, and he most certainly is, you'll still be feeling the resulting slap when you're in your 'Long Sleep'.'

The elf chuckled at this, rising from the bed to remove his various weapons, ignoring the raised eyebrow the sizable pile gained him,

'Is that a voice of experience I hear?'

Remus laughed too as he clambered beneath the covers, smiling mischievously at the elf who sat cross-legged at the end of the bed,

'I'm afraid even I fell victim to a prank or two during school, on one unfortunate occasion I had the misfortune to drink a potion-laced butterbeer that rendered me incapable of speaking anything other than dirty limericks. Lily was right to slap me, even if it wasn't quite my fault. She was very apologetic when she figured out that it was a prank though. Bought me a huge bar of Honeydukes chocolate to say sorry for slapping me – James didn't speak to me for a whole week due to jealousy.'

'Chocolate? What is chocolate?'

Remus froze, and then slowly sat up eyes wide in horror,

'Oh dear Merlin… please tell me you're joking.'

Sero raised an amused eyebrow, and looked to his soulmate who had begun to laugh, having re-entered the room in time to hear the elf's question,

'It's a sweet Sero - you'd probably love it. Moony is addicted to the stuff.'

The elf hummed thoughtfully, deciding he'd have the werewolf introduce him to this 'chocolate' at the earliest opportunity, supressing a smile as the scarred man flopped down onto the bed again, grumbling about the insanity of a world without chocolate as he settled down to sleep. Harry clambered in beside him, ensuring he was far enough down the bed to be in contact with his soulmate through the covers, and far enough along to be able to curl up against his Godfather. There was a mutual exaggerated sigh of relaxation, and the elf shook his head at the resulting giggles before beginning to hum, lulling the pair to sleep before they could realise the effect his voice was having upon them. Serorian closed his eyes as he continued to hum, senses on full alert, turning his thoughts inwards to the problem foremost in his mind at that moment. Namely the gateway and how he was going to get more than 100 condemned elves, scattered across various countries, through it. It was not going to be easy.

* * *

**R&R if you want (yes, feed this insecure writer cookies of encouragement!). Any spelling/grammar errors, just let me know.**


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